Mixed Emotions
by Jackilyn Trades
Summary: Sylar and Claire are having dreams of them being together. Soon, Sylar starts feeling attracted to his favorite cheerleader, while Claire is still in denial of her more affectionate feelings for him. Why is this happening to them?
1. Calling Insanity

_Remake of "Mixed Emotions: The Stupid and Sucky Original" my very first Sylaire and FanFic story. Hope it's better than the original. _:3

**Reason why I remade a new Sylaire fanfic under the same name and plot:**

_'Cos I might be makin' lots and lots and lots of changes, so yeah. Getting tired rechecking a chapter for the umpteenth time and ending up getting new and, frankly, better ideas for it afterwards. _=3=

_Yeah. I know. I suck. I've been telling myself that ever since I posted "Mixed Emotions: The Stupid and Sucky Original" and have been beating myself up for it._

_So yeah._

_Okay, stopping ramble._

_On with chapter 1! R&R please! _:D

_:("):_

_The perfect opportunity has __**finally **__come... _A female thought to herself, a wide, malicious grin stretched on her shadow-hidden face. She peered through the leaves of the tree she was on again, and her grin only widened.

One of her subjects was already leaving, and the other just stood there, shell-shocked.

Her soon-to-be-"victims" will have their worlds turned unexpectedly. And they'll never see it coming!

At least... she _hopes _not.

_:("):_

Claire tossed and turned in her bed. She couldn't sleep. This was yet another sleepless night, the thirtieth time actually. But she couldn't help it... she couldn't stop thinking of _him_.

She lay on her back and tried to focus on sleeping. But every time she closes her eyes... all she could see was his beaming face. And when she does, she always opens her eyes to stop the dream from continuing.

It was since she had run into _him _when the sleepless nights started...

_:("):_

_He had been walking out of a bookstore, reading his newly-bought book, and she almost dropped all her groceries when they almost collided, but he had fortunately held up a hand to stop her. She had looked around her bags to apologize then felt the words get stuck in her open mouth when she saw who it was. She had thought that she was seeing things and thinking, _He can't be alive... He should be **dead**! I shoved that shard of glass into the back of his head back in Prima— _She stopped her thoughts there. Meredith was dead because of him. And now he's _alive _and _standing right in front of her_. "Oh, crap," she had muttered and he had smirked, "Hello, Claire. Didn't expect to run into you like this..."_

_She had glared at him, "Why are you _here_? _**Alive**_?"_

_"Well, that's not a very nice greeting after not seeing each other for months." She kept glaring at him, so he said,"To answer your questions, I just wanted to buy a book and I'm alive thanks to the Primatech fire that melted the glass shard from my head before all of me could get burnt."_

_She flinched. It was thanks to her bio-mom that the son-of-a-bitch was alive! His smirk grew, "See you, Claire-bear." And left her there, shocked at the sudden realization._

_:("):_

The dreams had started a few days later...

_Claire was sitting on a bench, waiting for someone. Then, that somebody came out of the corner. When he saw her, he smiled and waved at her. She caught his glance and returned his gesture. He sat down just a few inches from her._

"_Hey,"_ _he said, smiling._

"_Hey,"_ _she smiled back. They locked eyes for a brief moment. "So...?"_ _She raised an eyebrow at him, still smiling._

"_I_ _don't_ _know,"_ _he replied, smiling still._

_Claire giggled, keeping her eyes locked on his. They were still smiling brightly at each other, their eyes twinkling. After another minute, Claire felt her face turn hot as he leaned closer to her. She hesitated for a moment before leaning closer to him as well._

_They closed their eyes as their lips met._

That's when she would wake up, sitting up with a shudder. Her dreams went on somewhat like that, and with them always kissing in the end. She didn't know why she had those dreams; a part of her tells her that someone must be messing with her head, but another part of her says that these dreams are telling her something.

_'Maybe you like him,' _a little voice in her head had said.

"_Eww_! No way!" She would reply to the little voice.

_'But you might,'_ the little voice would tell her afterwards. _'And you just don't know it yet.'_

Claire would shudder at the thought and shrug it off. Then, she would force herself to go back to sleep.

This night however, she would open and close her eyes every time his image appears in her head. But, after all that opening and closing, she gave up, for she was dreadfully tired and planned to think of something else to keep the thought of the dream away.

She slowly closed her eyes and started drifting away to sleep, the thought of Sylar still nagging her thoughts.

_:("):_

Twenty minutes later, a dream started once more.

She saw his face appear in her thoughts. So she took the time to study his features: the ever-present stubble on his jaw; his soft lips, with its corners turning up to form that smirk that she used to hate and which now makes her smile mischievously back; his long, dark hair which she just wants to run her fingers through... She saved his ice-cold, stone-hard, dark-brown pools for last. Just thinking about his eyes makes her remember the first time she locked eyes with him at her former high school in Texas; it had made her stomach churn, but now, heat attacks her face. He saw him lift a brow as he gave her a warm smile, and his eyes turned soft and warm.

At that, she woke up. Unlike what she always did every time she opens her eyes after a dream, her face turned red and she started breathing heavily as her whole body shook. "Oh man." She put her palm on her forehead to check if she were having a fever—this was the first time she had ever thought that she might just be sick—but got disappointed when she found her temperature to be normal-ish. _Of course I can never get sick! Damn ability..._

She finally sat up and tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear, examining her whole peach-and-pink-wallpapered wall. She sighed, and thought of how she could stop the dreams. Seconds later, she absently grabbed her cell phone and called him.

He picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" His voice was a bit muffled by cotton, but it obviously sounded weary and groggy. With the very sound of his voice, her heart skipped a beat.

She hesitated before greeting. "Um... hello," she finally said as she moved to a more comfortable position.

"Claire?" His voice instantly became clearer, more alert, shocked, and amused.

"Yeah," she replied, trying to hide her nervousness. "It's me."

He chuckled, "Wow. The Indestructible Cheerleader actually called The Boogeyman. Is there anything wrong, Claire-bear?" His voice said into her ear teasingly.

She silently glared at him, or rather, pretending that he was there to be glared at. "Stop kidding around, Sylar. I'm serious over here!" She couldn't believe that she said something like that to him. "And, apparently, I could say there is." She sighed.

"Oh-kaay," he replied. "And with all the other people, why call me? Why not call Peter, _your hero_, to solve your problem, huh?"

"W-ell..." she stopped and thought about it herself. "I don't know actually."

"Ohh... this is new." She knew that he was smirking.

"Cut it out!" She was getting more and more irritated and annoyed by the second.

"Okay, fine," he sighed. "Get to the point, Claire-bear."

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat but lost. "C-Could you... come over?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Are you seriously asking the guy who threw you against a wall, carved your head open, and dug into your brain to come over?" He chuckled.

She sighed exasperatedly. "Just... come over." Pause. "And don't use the door, use my window, or else Mom, Dad, and Lyle would wake up, okay?"

"Okay," he said, and she knew that he was getting even more curious. "See you," then he hung up.

"See you," she whispered to the dead phone, hung up, and put it back on the desk near her bed.

She threw off the covers, arranged it, and sat down on the side of the bed that faced the window.

She sighed and buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. _What the hell did I just do?_ _I'm_ _so stupid!_


	2. Comfort In My Monster's Arms

_...Shit?_

_When I checked my account, I found out that more than a few peeps have already alerted this._

_Yay?_

_Not satisfied._

_ME NEEDS REVIEWS, DUDES! _D:

_:("):_

Sylar went through her bedroom window, as she had asked, and saw her sobbing with her face buried in her hands.

"Claire!" The next two moves he made were involuntary, as if someone was controlling him, but he was too fixated on the crying cheerleader on the bed to notice: he quickly sat beside her and put his hand on her right cheek. "Hey, you okay?" He asked in one breath with a frown on his face.

Claire shook even more and started blubbering.

He sighed, pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arms around her as he stroked her hair – with her face still covered with her hands. "Oh jeez, Claire, it's okay. It's okay," he told her. "Calm down, it's okay." _Oh, __**hell**__, what am I doing?_

She was still shaking and crying when she noticed that she was blubbering on his chest. She also noticed that he was caressing and comforting her to calm down. In return, she involuntarily wrapped her arms around him, still sobbing on his chest. She felt his lips curve upward into a small smile. "It's okay now, Claire. Calm down."

"Okay." Her voice was choked, but she knew that he could understand her. "I know..."H

"Don't worry, Claire," he whispered.

"I'll try not to..." she whispered back and sniffed, "since you're here,"

He lifted an eyebrow. _Okay... What is she getting at?_ "Wow," he stroked her hair again, chuckling. "That's another new one."

Her eyes shot open in realization and she pushed him off to look at his face. He was confused—he should be—and she realized that she had just noticed that he actually looked... kind of... _cute_.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lied and, noticing that the situation was getting awkward, stood up, walking to the front of the bed with her arms folded on her chest. Feeling the tingle at the back of his head, he followed her and began looking concerned.

"Claire," he asked again, "what's wrong?" _Okay, why the hell am I so _concerned _about this?_

Claire hesitated, and slowly turned to face him. Her eyes and nose were red with all her crying, and her face was damp and red as well. "There's nothing wrong. I'm okay now." She brushed off a tear that had trailed down her cheek.

He instantly felt the tingle at the back of his head again. "No, you're not okay." He moved closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Tell me what's wrong,"

"I..." she looked away, hesitated, and then her next words came out choked, "I'm sorry." She sniffed, "I'm really terribly sorry." She looked up at him with watery eyes. "I woke you up in the middle of the night and told you that there was a problem. Then, I realized that it was _you_ who I called. _You_ of all other people!"—She shoved at his chest—"I don't even know why I _called_ _**you**_!"—Another shove—"I'm really sorry that you came all this way, just because I had some _stupid_ dreams and—"

"Shh, shh, shh..." He took her face in his hands, wiped off the escaping tears with his thumbs, and lifted her face to make her look into his eyes. "It's okay, Claire. Really. I'm always happy to help you out," a warm and reassuring smile grew on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. _Dreams?_ He asked himself in disbelief. _She called me just because she had a nightmare. How cute._ His smile slowly dissolved into a smirk.

She never knew that he could be so... _sweet_...? The sudden thought made Claire shudder. She turned her head to the side, facing the bed to avoid him from seeing her blush.

He sighed and his smirk disappeared. He looked down, and let his arm fall to his side. "It's really okay, Claire," he whispered, then looked up at her. "You can call me anytime whenever you need or want to," he told her, then paused. _What the hell did I just say?_ He looked down again, embarrassed.

"I'll always be there for you, Claire," he told her softly. "Remember that." He blinked and furrowed his brows. _Wait just a damn minute... Did I just say—?_ His eyes grew wide and his brows went up. _Oh, hell._ He looked up and studied her expression; she was still staring at her bed with a blank expression on her red face and her arms folded. He decided it was time to leave the scene, so he muttered a small "goodnight" to her and went out the window.

Claire sighed and threw herself on her bed. She grasped the biggest pillow and hugged it tightly. She thought about what she just did and started to search for a reason _why_ she did that.

_'Maybe_ _because you felt the need of his presence here?'_ the little voice suggested. _'Or_ _is it a _want_?'_ It added in a mischievously teasing tone.

"Shut up," Claire told the voice, frowning, and kept staring at the pillow she was hugging.

_'Do_ _you remember what he said?'_

She thought about it for a moment and his words rolled in her head:

_"It's_ _okay, Claire. Really. I'm_ _always happy to help you out."_

_"It's_ _really okay, Claire. You can call me anytime whenever you need or want to."_

_"I'll_ _always be there for you, Claire. Remember that."_

"Yeah..." she told the voice, not believing herself that she had actually _heard** those**_ words from **SYLAR**! "I remember. So?"

_'Do_ _you know what those words mean?'_

"Yeah... it means that he's a psychopathic serial killer who suddenly became very good at comforting." She rolled her eyes.

_'Claire...'_ the voice warned. _'You_ _know what I mean...'_

"Don't get all green-minded!" she warned back. "Just shut up and leave me alone," she muttered under her breath.

_'You can't_ _deny it, Claire!'_

"Oh, yes, I can..." she mumbled and closed her eyes, forcing herself to sleep.


	3. Watching Over You

**Disclaimer: Heroes is not mine. Also, there's a quote here which is close to the one from **Finding Nemo**. Kudos to anyone who sees it!**

_Yay! A review! _:D

_Me is happy and contented'n'satisfied._

_... For now._

_Review, please? _:3

_Btw, I would never have gone on with this story if _Joise _and _thadsmom _hadn't given me advice. Thanks so much, guys! _:D

_:("):_

Ever since that night, for some unknown reason, Sylar watched her silently in a tree near her window to make sure that she'd be safe—but she didn't know about that—and went home when he was sure that she would be .

One night, he was watching her again. But this time, he was observing her... studying her... and noticed what a beautiful grown woman she really was.

She wasn't the Claire Bennet he knew before; the one who was, like everyone else, afraid of him, but, unlike everyone else, stood her ground and faced him. She was now an independent woman, not the naive teenage-princess her family and everyone she knows sees.

_:("):_

_Claire sat on her bed. She couldn't_ _sleep._

_She jerked when she caught a shadow out of the corner of her eye. It was coming from the tree near her window. She stood up and walked over to it, resting her hands on the sill and looked at the tree in front of her. But she couldn't_ _find the shadow __anymore. Claire convinced herself that she was just hallucinating and needed some rest._

_When she went back on her bed, she saw the shadow again. She quickly ran to the window but still couldn't_ _catch a glimpse of the man—at least, she thought it was._

"_I_ _know you're_ _out there,"_ _she said, glaring at the tree. To her surprise, the shadow fell from the leaves at the crown of the tree and landed on a branch nearest her window._

"Sylar_?"_ _Claire's eyebrows raised at the tall man, still in black from head to toe, in front of her._

"_Hey,"_ _Sylar smirked, hiding his embarrassment under his confident, narcissistic, and egotistical facade._

"_What_ _are _you _doing here?"_ _Claire glared at him, checking her temper, else she might shout at him out of anger and wake her family, their neighbors, and maybe even the whole neighborhood. She didn't want anyone to interfere just then. This was something she ahd to settle on her own. "Are_ _you _stalking_ me? _Again_?"_

_He shook his head. "I_ _was watching you to make sure you were safe."_ _He smirked. "Miss me?"_

_Claire blushed, and tried to hide it with a snort, "Oh, _please_. Since when did _you _ever care? And _no_, I do _not _miss you." She crossed her arms over her chest, still glaring at him._

_Sylar chuckled. "Well, maybe, ever since you _called _me?" He raised an amused eyebrow at her._

_She rolled her eyes. "Riiight..." she said doubtfully. "Okay, so, say I bought that, will you go home now?" She raised her eyebrow at him._

_He smirked again, then leaned closer to her, his breath fanning her face. Was it just his breath, hot on her face, or was it really her face that was growing hot?_

"_Let me in, Claire," he whispered softly on her lips._

_She blinked and tried to regain focus... Can't. __Her breath hitched and her eyes half-closed when he leaned closer still, his breath on her lips. He took it as an invitation._

_Without any hesitation, he caught her lips with his, and when she gasped, he didn't hesitate either to let his tongue inside her mouth. He moaned, his eyes closing, when he tasted her tongue, and, after fighting a losing battle, she finally stopped trying to push him off and let her hands slide from his chest to his neck and crossed her arms at his nape, pulling him closer and responding with an equal passion to his kiss._

_Seconds later, as he was suckling at her neck, she tugged at his shirt, an invitation to let him inside, which he took._

"_Mmm, Sylar..." she breathed when she felt his tongue softening his bites at her collarbone._

"_Claire..." he said hoarsely. "Oh, Claire, oh _God_." He covered her mouth with his again, and started ripping off her shirt._

Claire gasped and sat up, shaking. She looked around and sighed. "It was... just... another... _dream..._" she breathed, letting out a whoosh of air and leaning against the wall behind her bed. "Just another dream."

But, she couldn't believe _this_ dream, where she _almost _had **_sex _**with **SYLAR**!

She shuddered, sure that it was from disgust and not lust.

_'The dreams are telling you something, Claire,'_ the little voice piped up.

"Shut up and go away," Claire told it, glaring at the wall which she imagined as the little voice in her head. The voice silenced, but its words were locked up in her head: _'The_ _dreams are telling you something, Claire.'_

_What if it's_ _true?_ Claire asked herself. _What if the dreams _are _telling me something?_ She scoffed at the thought. _Oh, _please_! If _that's _true, then what would it _mean_? That I, all of a sudden, would want to _sleep _with a sadistic psychopath?_

_'Maybe?' _the little voice chimed in again.

"I thought I told you to shut up!" she snapped, careful not to raise her voice.

It seemed impossible, but she heard the voice sigh, as if exasperated.

She took that off her mind and forced herself to gain some sleep yet again.

_:("):_

The next night...

_Sylar telekinetically pinned her against the wall, while struggling for breath and hanging on to dear life, what with the kitchen knife still stuck in his chest._ _Claire took in quick, panicky breaths_ _and tried to fight his invisible clutches, but he instantly turned her over with a flick off his wrist and pointed his index finger at her forehead. Her heart beat so fast_ _that she thought it might start running out of her chest, and she prayed to God that somehow, someone would come and rescue her. He drew his signature on her forehead, her blood dripping down her face as she screamed in pain and anguish._

Claire screamed as she sat up from her bed.

"_**CLAIRE**_?" A deep, familiar, and comforting voice shouted as she heard three pairs of feet run through the halls. Her family burst in. "_**CLAIRE**_!"

Noah wore a red and black checkered robe over his white and blue-striped pajamas, with sky blue slippers and horn-rimmed glasses on, gun in hand. He quickly hugged his little girl. "Shh, shh, shh, Claire-bear..." he whispered to her, worry still etched on both his features and his voice, rubbing her arm comfortingly. "Everything's gonna be alright, Claire-bear, don't cry. Daddy's here, daddy won't let anyone hurt you anymore..." Tears streamed down her face and she sobbed on her father's shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him.

Even though she hated being treated like a baby, she let herself be comforted that way, even for just a few minutes to calm herself. She didn't know why she had seen Sylar slicing her head even though she wasn't afraid of him anymore.

Meanwhile, her mother, who wore a similar robe—only colored blue and white, but still checkered—over her sky blue night gown, with little white flowers on the collar and the end of the skirt, and matching sky blue slippers, sat near her on the bed. She put a hand on her daughter's trembling shoulder. "What's wrong, honey?" she whispered softly.

Lyle groaned at the door frame, rolling his eyes, and leaned against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest. He was wearing his dark blue robe—with thick, loose, black-colored cuffs at the end of his sleeves and at the middle of the robe—which covered his white pajamas, and his feet were in his fluffy white cotton slippers. _Probably just got a nightmare,_ he rolled his eyes again.

"N-Nothing, Mom..." she sniffed, and wiped a tear with the back of her hand. "Just got nightmare."

Lyle scoffed, _Knew it._

Like they knew what he was thinking, his parents gave him a warning look. He put his hands in front his chest. "Sorry..." He scoffed again, _Jeez!_

"What kind o' nightmare?" Sandra turned back to her still crying daughter and wrapped her arms around her when Noah had let go of her.

"I just... remembered how I... got attacked by Sylar..." she replied, taking in deep breaths to calm herself.

Just then, four little paws came swiftly running into the room. Mr. Muggles whined, obviously angry at Claire for disturbing his doggy sleep.

"Mr. Muggles!" her mother scolded down at him. "Why don't you comfort our poor Claire here instead o' complainin' about her waking you?"

Mr. Muggles whined in protest again. Then his ears perked up and his furry little head moved to face the tree near Claire's window curiously examining the outside. He ran towards the window, looking directly at the tree, and strained his beady little black eyes to be able to peer through the thick leaves in the dark of the night. When he was directly in the moonlight streaming through the room from the window, he caught a glimpse of a shadow. He started barking.

The Bennets looked at the dog, then at the tree.

"What is it, Mr. Muggles?" Noah frowned at the dog, slowly got off the bed and cocked his gun, rechecking if it was loaded. He went to the window, squinted, and briefly saw a shadow before he saw that it wasn't there, then it was, then it wasn't again. Suspicious, he pointed the gun at the tree. "Who are you?" he growled in an angry voice.

_Dammit!_ Sylar cursed, glaring at both the dog and the muzzle of the gun.

"Who are you, you son of a _bitch_?" Noah growled again, his hand steady on the trigger.

_Damn you, Mr. Muggles._ Sylar cursed again. He hoped that Noah would stop pointing the gun at his head before he could twitch.


	4. Your Fucking Nightmare

**DISCLAIMER: THE TITLE USED FOR THIS CHAPTER IS FROM AVENGED SEVENFOLD'S "YOUR FUCKING NIGHTMARE." IT'S AN AWESOME SONG, AND, SADLY, I'M NOT IN THE BAND, NOR WAS I THE ONE WHO WROTE THE SONG. I AM TAKING NO CREDIT FOR "BORROWING" (WITHOUT PERMISSION) THE SONG TITLE FOR A CHAPTER TITLE. I AM NOT MAKING ANY MONEY WITH THIS! THIS IS FOR PURE . . . YEAH.**

O.O _**HO-**__ly __**FUCKED-UP CURRAP-TED BULLSHIT! **_o0o _**Four reviews ALREADY? **_o0o

O_O

_...Shit?_

_...You guys just made me happy. _:3 _sigh Contented'n'satisfied again. _:3 _For now, dudes, for now. See what your reviewing does to me? _:3 _Yayness! _8D _Update again! _:3 _Review and I shall update, 'cos your reviews make me happy, encouraged, and ward off My Depression (a.k.a. Author's Block)! _:3  
_Btw, this should've been posted last Friday night, but y'see, it's __**really **__very hard to type, edit, and make new ideas when you have a real-life Virginia Gray for a mother, and she checks in on you to see how you're doing with your "research assignment" (as I tell her) after every freakin' five minutes!_

_:sigh: Life, as I know it, is __**cruel **__to me._

_:("):_

A drop of sweat trickled down Sylar's brow, even though he felt the cool night breeze pass him from through the leaves of the tree where he was hiding. He breathed heavily but silently, focusing at the gun pointed at his head. _I should __**really**_ _get the ability of flight. And __**soon**__!_

Mr. Muggles jumped on Claire's windowsill and kept barking at him. Noah cocked his gun again, readying his shot.

_Shit._ Sylar said to himself, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. _What should I do now?_

Noah's hand fell to his side, gun in tow and he replaced his gun in its holder. Sylar frowned. _What!_

When Noah's hand reappeared, it held a taser.

Oh.

_It's more silent than a gun...so, when is he going to try and—_

Before he could even finish the thought, Noah suddenly tasered him.

"_Agh_!" Sylar grated his teeth together, suppressing the yelp of pain threatening to escape his lips.

Noah smirked, seeing a slumping shadows in the branches, "Gotcha." Mr. Muggles had hopped down the sill, whining, and flung himself in Sandra's arms.

Sylar's chest heaved up and down as he took in quick deep breaths, trying to keep conscious. _Dammit._ Still being shocked by the taser, he quickly pried it off his chest, and let the wires drop, feeling the consciousness coming back to him more quickly.

"Sylar," Noah breathed out, eyes widening when he recognized the dark figured sitting on the tree branch. _"What_ _the __**hell**_ _are __**you**_ _doing here?" _he hissed.

Sylar smirked. "Nothing much, really..." He cocked his head to the side. "Just watching your little Claire-bear while you were asleep, that's all..."

"You already have her power, Sylar... what more do you _want_?" Noah growled, shooting invisible daggers at him.

"Nothing more..." Sylar shrugged. "I already told you that I'm just watching her...I think I forgot to mention that she kind of asked for it..." He cocked his head to the side again, as if thinking it over.

"'_Asked for it_'?" Noah hissed, his glare turning into a scowl, then turned to Claire. "You _asked_ him to _watch over you_?"

Claire frowned and quickly shook her head, "N-no, Dad, I didn't. I would _never_ ask him to do that!" She glared at Sylar, _"I didn't_ _**ask**_ _you to look after me!" _she snapped.

"I know you didn't..." He replied nonchalantly. "I just figured that I just would, unless you needed me again."

"'_Again_'?" Noah looked back at him, the scowl still plastered on his face. "What do you _mean_ _**'again'**_?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" He raised an amused eyebrow at him and nodded at Claire. The Bennets looked at Claire for answers.

"I-I... I... _called_ him... last, last night..." Claire shakily replied, while nervously tucking a few strands of golden hair behind her ear.

"You _called_ him?" Noah and Sandra chorused. Claire gave a brief nod. "_Why_ would you call _him_?"

Claire lightly shrugged. "I... I don't know, I just... grabbed my cell and called him..."

"How'd you get his number?" Noah sat beside her once again, curious and suspicious.

Claire hesitated, then muttered, "From his file."

They stared at her, bewildered. Sylar just placed his smug smile on his face. Claire had never felt so humiliated before...

Mr. Muggles whined and yawned.

Sandra broke the silence by bidding Claire goodnight and left with Mr. Muggles cradled in her arms. Noah whispered in her ear, "Tell him to go." He stood up, "Good night, Claire-bear," and planted a kiss on her cheek. He went out of the room with Lyle sleepily trailing behind him.

Claire sighed and went to her window. Sylar crawled onto the branch nearest her window so that they were face-to-face.

"You want me to go?" he asked her softly, his hot breath tickling her face. She wordlessly nodded, eyes locked onto his. He nodded, "Alright then..." and stood, "Good night, Claire-bear," before jumping down from the branch. He landed on his feet, walked to the fence and straddled.

Claire watched after him, before he was enveloped by the shadows of the night. She sighed, trudged towards her bed before plopping herself face-first on it.

_'He cares for you, Claire,'_ the little voice piped up all of a sudden. _'That's why he was watching over you.' _Claire could picture the voice smirking at her.

"Ugh," Claire groaned. "_Please_ don't start _this_, _**again**_!" She hit her head on her pillow.

_'_Fine_...'_ The voice grumbled, _'Get a good night's sleep, then,'_ and silenced.

Claire sighed and closed her eyes as she put the covers on top of her and tried to relax before she finally slept an hour later.

_:("):_

Claire's eyelids were heavy each morning after another one of her dreams, but she managed to keep awake... At times.

One morning, her English professor, Professor Crane, caught her dozing silently in the middle of his lecture.

"Miss Bennet!" he scolded. Claire jerked awake.

"Y-yes, sir?" She said shakily, losing her drowsiness.

"You _do_ know how _rude_ and _offending _it is for a professor when students aren't paying attention in the middle of a lecture, don't you?"

"Yes, sir." Claire lowered her head in shame, "Sorry, sir."

"Have you gotten enough sleep last night?"

She vaguely shook her head. "Not quite, sir."

"What's keeping you up? Television?" he cocked an eyebrow curiously.

She shook her head again. "Just... nightmares, sir... nothing big, just minor..."

"Ah." He turned serious, "Do you want me to schedule you an appointment with the school guidance counselor?"

She shook her head once more, "No, thank you, sir." She looked up at him and cleared her throat. "Carry on." She smiled at him reassuringly.

He nodded and went on with the lecture, pacing down the aisles in between the seats. She sighed.

_:("):_

The next evening, as Claire sat on her bed, her brow was creased in deep thought. She was having a mental tirade with her consciences: she didn't want to go to sleep and see another nightmare-dream about her and Sylar, but that was only a part of what she felt. The other part felt weary and wanted to go to sleep and embrace the dream that was coming. She didn't know which part she wanted to follow.

Tiredness won over her, so she sighed, and went to sleep, praying with all her might that she won't have another dream.

Poor girl...

_Claire was sleeping in her bed, her head on Gabriel's_ _bare chest. She slowly half-opened her eyes and looked up, then smiled. Gabriel was still asleep, his lower half covered by her blue blanket and his black boxers. She looked down at herself and chuckled, remembering what had happened last night; she was wearing his black shirt, and that was about it. She repositioned herself under the covers and leaned over Gabriel's face, giving him a light kiss before opening her eyes, gazing intently on his face. He started to shift and, groaning, slowly opened his eyes. He smiled when he was greeted with Claire's warm smile._

"_Hey,"_ _Claire greeted._

"_Hey."_ _They kissed briefly before looking out the window. It was still dark outside... They glanced at her desk clock. It was 3 o'_-_something in the morning. Gabriel frowned, his warm brown eyes having a calculating look before he took it off the desk and started setting it._

"_What's_ _wrong with my clock?"_ _Claire raised her eyebrow._

"_It's_ _running three minutes and seven seconds late,"_ _Gabriel told her before settling it back down. He sighed, "I_ _should go now."_ _He looked down at her._

"_Aw,_ _please stay."_ _She made the saddest puppy dog eyes she can make, pouting her lower lip, but he sadly shook his head._

"_Sorry,_ _Claire. I need to. If your Dad sees us like this in the morning..."_ _He trailed off, both knowing perfectly well what would happen. She sighed, still looking sad, but nodded in understanding._

"_See_ _you tonight?"_ _he inquired, trying to lighten the mood, with a knowing smirk on his face. She looked up at him, smirking knowingly as well, the sadness evaporating from her eyes, replaced by a mischievous twinkle._

"_Hmm..." she looked thoughtful, only with a mischievous smile on her lips, as she ran a finger down the middle of the hair on his chest. "Same time... same place?" she asks, eyes averting upwards to gaze into his, which still had their mischievous twinkle as well._

"_Yeah..." he trailed one finger along her cheek, and smiled softly as she closed her eyes in content._

"_Okay, then,"_ s_he whispered softly, her eyes fluttering open. "See you,"_ _she bade before placing a soft kiss on his lips._

_He let out a contented sigh, "I love you," and grinned slowly._

_"I love_ _you, too,"_ s_he grinned back and placed one last kiss on his lips. He threw off the covers while she took off his shirt, then handed it to him. Quickly, he put it on as he approached the window, then put on his pants. When he'd finished buttoning and zipping it up, he glanced back at her, and saw her wearing her night clothes now, which had been strewn on the floor hours ago, sitting up on her bed, the blankets wrapped around her tiny waist. She was smiling and he could tell that she was impatiently waiting for their little... meet-up that night. He smiled back, gave her a nod which she returned before he disappeared out the window._

Claire gasped, her upper-half shooting up in bed. She took in quick calming breaths as she rested her back on the headboard. "Oh God," she breathed out and slapped her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut to will out the image of Sylar _half-na... _No. She didn't want to _think _of that certain word. She shuddered, still trying to calm herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, this time to think of how to make these _goddamn night-fucking-mares _to _stop_! Like, _A.S.A.P._!

She came to a decision which she was still reluctant to do. Sighing, she picked up her phone and called him. Again.

All she could hear were those _irritating _rings...

Four rings. _I'm going _insane_!_

Five... _Maybe there's another way...?_

Six... _No, The Haitian isn't an option. I'll just remember anyway... fucking _ability_!_

Seven rings... _God, can't he just pick up his fucking phone?_

She was about to hang up on the eighth ring, when his voice suddenly came up, "Hello?" It was groggy and muffled a bit by cotton. With that, Claire suddenly turned red in shame.

"Uh... hi. Sorry that I called you so late again." Claire replied with sincere apology in her voice.

"Claire?" his voice was still bleary, but it was clear that he was getting bored and _slight-ly _annoyed/irritated by her calling him again.

"Yeah, uhh…" she hesitated, biting her lip. "Could you please... come over again?"

"And why should I?" he asked, his tone unchanging. "Did you have a more _terrible _nightmare, Claire-bear?" he teased, his voice dripping with alert sarcasm, though the sleepiness remained.

"Just... _come over_. Okay?" As an afterthought, she said, "Please?"

"Actually, Claire-bear, I—"

She cut him off, "Great! See you!" she bade with a _li-ittle _too much enthusiasm than was needed before hanging up.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. _So stubborn... _He sighed and got up, shrugging on his jacket and putting on a clean pair of pants before exiting through his apartment window.


	5. Added Confusion

_Like... wow._

_Long chapter much _D-FrAE_?_

_Okay..._

_Thanks very muchly to _sylar1610, GabrielReid, evergirlin, WillowGray_,_ Isabella97_, and _Woodrow Graham Kenobi-Rimmer _for reviewing! _:3

_By the way, this is a week late, sorry about that. I just finsihed. _:P _Stupid school got me so busy... _-.- _Oh well. Enough about _my _life and let's go to what's happening in this chapter (which, I should say, _sucks_... or does it? Lemme know!)!_

_:("):_

Sylar reached Claire's room in half an hour and the first thing he saw was Claire sitting on the side of her which faced her window, her foot tapping the rugged floor in impatience. He tore his eyes away from the skin much-exposed by her purple spaghetti-strap and sky blue pajama pants.

"Okay, Claire-bear," Sylar sighed and Claire stood up, briskly striding towards him. "What's wro—?" He was cut off mid-word when Claire abruptly put her hand on the nape of his neck, pushing his head towards hers, and—

—they both froze.

Him, standing there, frozen-rigid, startled and shocked. Her, looking down at her bare feet, biting her lip, her jaw set. She looked hesitant and felt ridiculous from even _thinking _of doing what she was _about _to do!

Sylar blinked. "C-_Claire_…? W-whu-wha... wha-what—? _Were you just about to_—?" Sylar stuttered in complete and utter shock.

Claire sighed, gritting her teeth, "Yeah…" she responded in a supposed-to-be-nonchalant tone, but was slightly quavering with humiliation.

"But… _why_…?" He frowned, trying to assess the reason as to _why _she was about to... He still couldn't believe that she was going to... _kiss __**him**_! _Him._ _**Sylar.**_ Of all other people!

Claire sighed again, and organizing her thoughts, _How can I tell him this?_ She lifted her face to look, locking her gaze with him for the first time that night, "I just wanted to know what I really feel about you."

He raised an eyebrow, as if in disbelief. "You hate me, Claire," he softly reminded her. "Why do you need confirmation?"

She hesitated. "Because of the nightmares," she told him carefully. "I've been... um... having... _nightmares_ about us… I just... wanted to know…" She released her hand from his nape and took a step back to look at the floor again, biting her lip. He was frowning again.

"So…" He paused. "What now?" He lifted his eyebrow once more.

She looked up at her, brows knit together. "What do you _mean _'what _now_?'"

"Well,"—he shrugged—"since you weren't going to kiss me..." A mischievous smirk played on his lips. "Can I kiss _you_?"

She glared at him. "Go to hell." She started to walk back to her bed, but he caught her elbow, saying, "Hey, hey, Claire-bear, c'mon!" She looked over her shoulder to give him another glare, to which his smirk just widened, "You _did _tell me to come here, and well... I wouldn't want my... _visit _to be for _nothing_, so..." He cocked an eyebrow at her, his eyes glinting darkly.

She set her jaw and twisted out of his hold. He let her go, which made her fall in a very... _ungraceful_ manner onto her floor, butt-first.

He snickered and she glared at him before looking away and started to get to her feet. Like the gentleman that he is, he held his hand out to help her up but she ignored it and stood up straight as if the previous event did not happen.

He raised his eyebrow at her again, his smirk still plastered on his lips. She rolled her eyes. "Just..." She looked away, fighting back tears, and told him in a forced nonchalant voice, "Just go. _Please_?"

He frowned. _What the hell?_ _Why is she _crying_? _This wasn't right. Claire doesn't cry over petty things. What was happening to her? Speaking of which, what was happening to _them_?

He slung his arm around her shoulders, a frown creasing his forehead, and lifted her chin up with the index finger and thumb of his free hand. The tears had already fallen down her confused face, reflecting the expression on his. "Hey, what's wrong?"

That did it.

She suddenly sobbed, burying her face into her hands. He jerked, startled by this unexpected response, eyes widening. He thought she would punch him or kick him or do something that would hurt him, but he most _certainly _didn't expect her to _cry_.

"Claire? C'mon, Princess, talk to me." One arm still slung around her shoulders, he used his other hand to remove her hands and lift her dampened face up once more.

Even through the red eyes and runny nose, her natural beauty still shone through, minus the fire he was so used to see from her.

"What's wrong, Claire-bear?" he asked again, his voice filled with concern and confusion.

"I—I—I d-don't... _know_, I... I just... oh, holy _shit_, Sylar,"—she ran her agitated and similarly befuddled hands through her hairline—"I just... I just... _don't. __**Know!**_" Another sob escaped her lips and she wiped off a tear. "Lately it's just... just so _shitty_, you know? I'm having these _fucking weird __**mood swings **_and _unexplainable nightmares _and—and, _oh_... _**GOD!**_" She smacked both sides of her forehead with both hands. "Shit, shit, _shit_," she swore through grated teeth.

He raised an eyebrow at her and, more confused, he waited for her to elaborate. "I _cannot _believe that I'm _actually _telling you _anything _about my life!" She shoved at his chest, but he didn't move. She hastily tried to pry his arm off her, but he suddenly whipped her around, grasping both her shoulders firmly, "_Hey_," he scowled at her, and she glared back. "_Look. _I think something's happening to us and I, for the life of me, _do not _know—"

"What do you mean '_us_?'" She frowned suspiciously at him.

"Well, can you think of any _reason _why I would _watch over you_?" he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again. He was right. Sylar in his rightly-psychopathic mind wouldn't have _any reason _to_ watch over _an immortal ex-cheerleader. She sighed, "You have a point there." She hated that he was always so _annoyingly _right.

He just smirked again. "See?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well..." she sighed, "I better get some sleep..." She wasn't feeling tired at all.

"I better go as well..." he said in a low almost-whisper. But he didn't feel like he wanted to go at all.

They locked gazes and realized that they didn't want to leave that spot at all. No, they felt... felt like something was... _missing_. In the little scenario right then and there. But what?

Almost reluctantly, Sylar said, "Well, good night, Claire-bear." He leaned closer to her and placed a light kiss on her forehead, his eyes became hooded when his lips touched her skin, and so did hers.

Slowly—ever so _slowly—_he lifted his lips from her forehead, and went down to her cheek... Along her jawline... And just underneath her lips... His breath teased her lips as he slowly withdrew, but kept his lips hovering over hers... Perhaps asking for permission?

They were becoming breathless for some unknown reason, and their eyes were locked on the other's slightly parted lips. Tentatively, Sylar quickly gave her a light kiss, both of them shocked at the action. Slightly dazed, the words "oh _God_" being replayed over and over in his head, he kissed her again, only a little longer this time. When he pulled away, he licked his lips, which were just a breath away from hers once more.

Just feeling his breath on her mouth made her breath hitch again, her eyes were still hooded with... what? What now? _What now?_ Without another thought, she kissed him. Hard. Hungrily. Greedily. She sucked at his lips, her hands involuntarily reaching out at the small—oh-so small that their bodies were almost touching—space between them and gripped at his shirt, pulling him closer.

His eyes widened then closed and he let his tongue into her mouth, but found her lips to be a barrier. He tried to find a way in with his tongue, and she eagerly opened her mouth. When his tongue came into contact with hers, she felt like she was being shocked.

"Mmm," she moaned, kissing him back with much added hunger and greed.

Sylar fought for his dominance, and so did she, giggling as she did, not caring that one of her hands were now clutching tightly onto his hair and the other, digging into his back; nor did she care that one of _his _hands had now lost itself in her hair while the other had placed itself on the small of her back, pressing her towards him, feeling her body melt into his. He heard a faint moan escape her throat.

He took a stride forward and they both fell on the bed, still tongue-locked, with Claire's back on it as more moans and groans escaped their throats, both not really refusing to let go. Her legs had tangled themselves around his hips, pressing him towards her. When she felt his hardened erection on her, she suppressed a loud moan by biting her lips after she pulled away. He caught her mouth in his again, wandering around inside it with his tongue, and felt her tongue do the same in his mouth.

A few minutes later, they _hesitantly_ pulled away, gasping for breath. They stared into each others' eyes for a while, then, "Oh, **c**_**rap**_!" Sylar breathed out, still taking in air, smirking lips a mere breath away from hers.

Claire took in a deep breath before asking, "Wha-what?"

He chuckled, "Best kiss I ever had..." he whispered on her lips with teasing breath.

"Wow" was being replayed over and over in her slightly dazed head that she didn't hear him. "What?" she asked again.

"Nothing," he told her, placing a light kiss beneath her lips.

She felt her body tremble with need. _God_, does he not _know_ how much she wanted his lips to kiss hers again...

She blinked, suddenly realized what was happening and _who _was _on top of her_. "Oh God," she breathed, and hastily pushed him off her (though his body did feel _sooo good _on hers...).

"What—?" Sylar frowned, getting off her in a very reluctant manner and got to his feet.

"This shouldn't have happened..." she whispered, mostly to herself when she had sat up.

"Claire—" he began, but then she quickly lifted her face, emerald orbs boring into his brown ones, a disgusted look in them, "_Get out_," she hissed in a low, gravelly tone.

His frowned deepened, "_What_?"

"Get _out_!" She stood up and shoved at his chest so hard that he slightly staggered backward. With that small a frame, you wouldn't have known how much strength she actually possessed.

Frowning in confusion, and still trying to assess what came on the sudden change of air, he turned around and jumped out the window, landing softly on his feet with the help of his telekinetic ability and strode off into the night, fuming with confusion, irritation, and slight annoyance.

She sighed, slapping her forehead and went towards her bed, plopping herself onto it, side-first and clutched a pillow tightly to her chest.

She took a breath.

_'Well?'_ the little voice suddenly asked her.

"'Well' what?" Claire asked it in return, annoyed for it interrupting her much-needed—or maybe not—silence.

_'How_ _does it __**feel**_ _like to actually feel his lips on yours?'_ the little voice prodded on. _'Or more precisely, his __**mouth **__and __**tongue**__?' _If the little voice had a mouth, it would be sneering right now.

Claire shrugged indifferently, sighed, and breathed out, "I don't know…" Part of her found it revolting, but another part of her actually… _liked_ it. _Oh _God_, what the hell is _wrong _with me?_

She sighed again. Then climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her. She stared at the tree in front of her window until her eyelids slowly drooped and she went to sleep.

After a few seconds, the recent event was projected in her mind…

She remembered how his hands felt _soo warm_ on her burning red cheeks... She remembered, most of all, how his lips felt like when they came into contact with hers… She could still feel his taste in her mouth, even as a small dreamy smile crept on her lips as she licked said lips… She also remembered how she felt when their tongues also came in contact…

"Mmm…" She could almost feel his hot breath on her face again… Her breath hitched when she thought that he had crashed his mouth onto hers again.

She shuddered awake at the thought… Ohhh, no-no-no... _Nooo_, no, no-no-no-no-no, _no_. She was _not_ going to be... _attracted _to Sylar... _At all_!

She sighed and closed her eyelids once more, slowly drifting off to a deep sleep.

_:("):_

Sylar closed his door behind him and stared into the darkness of his apartment. The recent event that night was projected in his mind...

He remembers seeing her shaking figure… Her golden locks falling down from her shoulder, over her face... Her green eyes staring at the rug… Her lovely angel-face, sweaty and tired, yet she still looked as beautiful as ever… He remembered the look in her eyes when she heard him speak... He still doesn't know what that look was... Somewhere close to startled and relieved, he guesses.

He sighed and ran his hand on the wall, looking for the light switch. Once found, he flicked it on and shadowed his eyes with a hand. He trudged towards the bathroom, but stopped, and, squinting, checked the time on his wall clock in the kitchen. It was really late... or really early; around three in the morning...

He pushed open the bathroom door and turned on the faucet, splashing the cold water onto his face, trying to make himself wake up. He flinched from the suddenness of the cold hitting his skin, and felt the hairs all over his body rise, startled. He splashed at his face some more, rubbed at his eyes, and dried his face with his towel. He looked into the bathroom mirror, which was just above the sink. His eyes had that tired look in them, since he was woken so goddamn early in the morning, but behind them were the recent event, being projected over and over. He sighed and continued drying his face, squeezing his eyes shut, willing the memory to go away.

Unfortunately, he saw her face again... Her lips on his... Her tongue in his mouth... He could still smell her... Feel her... Taste her... He slowly drew the towel down, eyes closed in a relaxed manner, and his tongue slowly went out of his mouth.

He frowned when all he felt was air.

His eyes snapped open, and, disgusted with himself, unceremoniously threw the towel at the tiled bathroom floor, not caring to pick it up and put it back in its place as he briskly strode to his bed and plopped on it, back-first, taking in deep, calming breaths. It was just a good thing that he was alone in his apartment. It would be _soo __**humiliating **_to stick your tongue out, imagining that you're snogging someone, in public. _What's happening to me?_

Lately, he's been having dreams of Claire. Well... not really dreams... memories actually. About when they first met, when he acquired her power, when he went over to her house with her permission... and a couple was _really_ dreams.

The first one was:

_Sylar was walking on the dark, long roads of the city, he didn't know which, but he was pretty sure it was in Kirby Plaza since there was a dusty, crumbling fountain with what looked like stairs in the middle. He witnessed the buildings collapsing. _So this is the future...?

_He started to panic. There _should _be someone else here with him... It's not possible for the future to not have anyone else with spontaneous cellular regeneration as an ability who still lived!_

_From the corner of his eye, he spotted the petite figure of a familiar teenager walking through the mist. He caught a glimpse of blond locks swaying in the wind, some lying loosely on her shoulders. He sighed with relief, and felt his shoulders sag as if a heavy burden has just left him._

_Suddenly, she looked up and he saw tears streaming down her face. Her expression changed from fear, panic, and plainly a broken soul to relief and happiness. She ran up to him and he fell to the ground with the intensity of her hug. She sobbed onto his chest, her shoulders shaking._

"Claire_?" he said, frowning. A _hug_? From _**Claire**_? And she was—_is—**happy **_to _see him_?_

_Not likely._

_"Please don't leave me alone," she begged him, her words choked. He slowly stroked her hair, and lifted his face to it to inhale her scent._

_"Claire..." he whispered, in a more... _relaxed _tone. He was happy even. Had she finally accepted him?_

_"Please..." She sobbed onto his chest, her fists clutching tighter onto the cloth._

_He blinked. Numerous times. Trying to convince himself that this was actually _real_! Claire had asked him _not to leave her alone_. Maybe he was hallucinating? Or dreaming?_

_Slowly, he raised his head and inhaled the scent of lilacs and peaches from her golden locks again. Nope. _Definitely **not **_a dream._

_His signature smirk slowly crept its way across his face. "Sure."_

_"Promise?" she asked, raising her head, damp green eyes scanning his brown ones for any trace of insincerity or jest, and found nothing else except the opposite... and triumph._

_He nodded, his smirk still on his face, "I promise."_

_She pulled at his shirt towards her, and crashed her mouth onto his, her entire face registering her happiness, relief, and gratefulness. He lay there, shocked and uncertain. Slowly he closed his eyes and slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she moaned._

He had awakened there, shocked and bewildered. He had asked himself, _Did I just dream about the future?_ He had considered this for a while. _Naw, that's _impossible_. I didn't take Angela's ability..._ He had shrugged it off and went on with his regular morning activities.

His second one was a bit the same, but in a different time, and was after he first went in her room:

_Sylar went through Claire's window, per her request. She spun around to face him._

_"Sylar..." she started hesitantly. "Um..." She lowered her head, avoiding his gaze. He raised an eyebrow at her. She lifted her head, took a step forward, and planted a soft kiss on his lips. He flinched, blinking and forcing himself to believe that he wasn't dreaming. She bit her lip, took a step back, and looked at her rug._

_"Claire..."_

_She looked up at him, "Yeah?"_

_He lowered his lips to hers. Her eyes widened, but went back to their normal sizes all in a second. Her eyes slowly closed as she wrapped her arms around his neck._

He had woken up there, brows furrowed. He wasn't sure why he had those dreams, but he always shrugged them off. Tonight, however, he felt like those dreams were telling him something. He just wasn't sure. He always understood everything, but... this situation was a bit too... _complex_. Well, only _a bit_…

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He decided to go back to sleep, but he didn't feel like it. He just laid down on the covers, and felt his eyes slowly closing. He tossed the covers on him, and began to drift away.

_It was pitch-black, but with a dim light on one wall. Apparently, he was in the alley of some sort of abandoned bar. He looked around some more, and found..._

_A girl. She was around fourteen with black hair tied back in a ponytail—a few strands slightly covering her eyes and the slightly longer ones tucked behind her ear—wearing a yellow shirt that had a little lightning bolt of sorts just underneath the collar of a polo shirt—which she had underneath the shirt. She had blue baggy jeans with multiple pockets, and yellow-colored tennis shoes with black zebra-stripes at the sides. She was standing around three and half meters away from him, he estimated._

_"Who are you?" His dark brows furrowed._

_"Call me Crash," she told him in an slightly off-hand tone._

_He raised an eyebrow, "Oh—__**kay**__,then…"_

_"I need to tell you something..." she started. He looked at her confusingly. "Remember those dreams you had about Claire?" He nodded. "They're telling you something..."_

_He raised an eyebrow at her, testing her, his dark eyes peering down at her, "What exactly are they telling me?"_

_"Well, first of all... you need to control The Hunger..." she said. "Or else you'll end up like your father..."_

_He furrowed his brows. "My... _real _father, you mean?"_

"_Of course your real father!" she told him irritably, waving her hand in an aggravated way, and added, "It's not like Martin had any _abilities _or anything."_

_His eyes widened. This girl knew something about her real father and he knew _nothing_ about him!_

"_How do you—" he started to ask, but she interjected, "Anyway... these dreams are telling you that..." she paused and looked around uneasily. He lifted his eyebrows. "They're telling you that you need her."_

_He furrowed his brows again. "You mean that I... __**need**__... __**CLAIRE**__?" She nodded. "Why would I need her when I already have her ability?"_

_"If you don't want to end up like your father—your __**real **__father—then you need Claire in your life... you'll discover—" Someone shouted "_Cyber_!" through the darkness of the alley. Crash sighed, shook her head, and continued, "You'll discover sooner or later about what you feel about her." She turned around and started to walk away._

_"What? WAIT—_**WAIT**_!" He ran to her, his arm extended towards her. "What do you mean I _'need her in my life?'_"_

_"I ALREADY TOLD YOU! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO END UP LIKE YOUR FATHER, CONTROL THE HUNGER AND HAVE CLAIRE IN YOUR LIFE!" she yelled without turning back and disappeared into the shadows._

Sylar woke up with a start. He looked out the window. The sky was blue, and his clock read _7:20 AM_. He got up and went in the shower.


	6. At The Bridge

_Like... shit._

_Thanks very muchly to _sylar1610, Woodrow Graham Kenobi-Rimmer, GabrielReid, jayden, _and_ Hanane _for reviewing! _:3 _Also, since I forgot—pardon my brain—thank you to anyone who has alerted this story! _:D

_By the way, for those who have watched Gilmore Girls, it's the bridge at the lake that I mean here (the one where Luke pushed Jess into; lol _XD_) but, if you haven't... just keep reading. (Sorry, but I was fresh out of location ideas and I was thinking of lakes and I came to the idea of the bridge when my stupid brain suddenly thought about the Gilmore Girls TV Show. _:P_)_

_**Anywayss!**__ R&R! _:D

_:("):_

Claire's eyes slowly open and were greeted with warm sunlight and a blue sky. She sat up, yawning and stretching. She felt... good. For the first time in a month, she never felt so well-rested. For the first time in a month, she didn't have a nightmare of her and Sylar being together. She smiled. But, why does it feel like this _wasn't_ the first time this happened. Her smile disappeared, and she started wondering why she didn't have a single nightmare-dream.

_'It's because he came to you last night, Claire,'_ the little voice suddenly said. She arched an eyebrow before processing this for a minute, eyes looking heavenward. She now recalled that she _also_ didn't have a single nightmare-dream when Sylar came over and comforted her. She just rolled her eyes.

"Oh, shut up. I don't want anything—especially _you_ and those _stupid night-fucking-mares _to ruin my Saturday," she scolded the voice and jumped off her bed to shower.

Moments later, she went down the steps and entered the kitchen with a bright smile on her face. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Claire-bear." Noah placed a peck on her cheek as she sat down.

"Good morning, Claire," Sandra greeted her as she put syrup on the waffles.

"Morning..." Lyle mumbled and took a sip of his milk. Claire noticed slightly dark circles under his eyes, and that he looked tired again.

"Have you been up playing video games, _again_, last night, Lyle?" Claire raised an eyebrow as she took a sip of her own cup. Lyle rolled his eyes and continued drinking his milk. She, too, rolled her eyes and took a bite out of her sandwich.

"Claire," Noah started. Claire turned to look at him, still chewing. "Professor Crane called me today." She raised an eyebrow curiously. "He told me that he caught you dozing off in his class the other day. He also told me that you told him that you weren't having much sleep because you were having some nightmares, and that you didn't want him to schedule you an appointment for the school's psychiatrist." She didn't say anything. "You haven't _told_ me about any nightmares... How long have you been having them?"

She swallowed, looking nonchalant about it, "A month." She took another bite.

"A _month_?" Noah's eyes widened behind his glasses. She nodded, forcing herself to calm down. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She swallowed again. "'Cause they weren't really that major..." She raised an eyebrow at him, "They're just nightmares, Dad," she half-chuckled, half-scoffed.

"What were they about?"

She shuddered vaguely. "Sylar..." She let her hair hide her face and continued eating.

"Are you having flashbacks of him attacking you, Claire?" He put his hand on her shoulder. She nodded once; she didn't want him to know that she was having those strange nightmare-dreams of them being _together_. "I'll have the Haitian come over." He stood.

She scoffed, "I can heal, Dad." She looked up at him, an or-have-you-forgotten-already eyebrow quirked up, "When you erase my memory I'll still remember." Noah blinked, processing it for a few seconds then nodded.

"You're right..." He sat back down. "But is there _anything_ I could do to stop these nightmares? Anything at all, Claire?"

She looked at the sandwich in her hands. "I don't think there is." She said slightly above a whisper, frowning. He sat up in his seat, sighing. They continued eating.

_Yeah, it's _all _about _her _again… _Lyle rolled his eyes, unnoticed.

_:("):_

Sylar drank his coffee, pondering about what the mysterious girl told him about his dreams in his dream last night. He remembered that she called herself Crash. He scoffed at the alias, and went back to pondering.

Her words were repeated in his head, creasing his forehead:

"_...you need to control The Hunger... Or else you'll end up like your father. . . . your real father! It's not like Martin had any _abilities _or anything."_

_Hmmm... _She knew something about his father. He'd have to ask her about him when they met again...

But what bothered him the most was:

_"If you don't want to end up like your father... your __**real **__father... then you need Claire in your life..."_

_I _need_ her?_ he asked himself. _Hmm..._ He thought about this for a moment and his face lightened. _Maybe... I need her to help me control The Hunger..._ He started to consider this. _But... _how_? And _**when**_?_

"_Now_ would be good," a female voice said. He knew that voice. He turned around in his seat and saw Crash leaning against his door frame. "Call her," she added staring at the wall separating the kitchen and the bedroom. "Tell her to meet up with you somewhere at some time." She turned and went out the door.

Sylar's eyes jerked opened. He looked around, then behind him, hoping she was there, but she wasn't. He stood, ignored the chair he toppled over, and looked out the door. She wasn't outside either. He looked around.

Nothing.

He groaned, went back inside, and closed the door behind him. He sat back down on his chair and stared into space, pondering.

Her recent words were repeated in his mind: _"Call her,"_ she had told him. "_Tell her to meet up with you somewhere at some time."_

_Call her?_ He continued staring at the air. With nothing else to do, he got out his phone from his pocket and dialed her number. Putting his phone to his ear and listening to the rings, he took a sip of his coffee.

She picked up on the fifth ring. "Hello?"

"Hello, Claire," he greeted nonchalantly, as if they were close friends and that she didn't loathe him. He started thinking how he could ask her...

She hesitated. "..._Sylar_?"

"...Yeah."

She chuckled a bit. "Wow. First, _I _was the one calling _you_, and _now_, _you're_ the one calling _me_. ...Ironic." He bit his lip. "So. Why'd you call?"

"Well..." He leaned back in his seat, taking a sip from his cup. _Okay... calm down, calm down, calm down... _he kept chanting to himself and said in the same nonchalant tone that hid his embarrassment, "I was wondering if we could... well, if you're _free _that is and you see, I'm not entirely sure if you want to, but perhaps—perhaps we could meet up somewhere?" Right. _Reeaal _smooth.

She answered after a few seconds, "Um... oh-kay... where?" She sounded suspicious. Why shouldn't she be?

He shrugged. "I don't know. ...The... Bridge, perhaps?" Okay, he has _got _to stop repeating that word.

"You mean... the bridge on the lake near that old abandoned inn?"

"Yeah, that one," he confirmed.

After a few seconds came her cautious reply: "W-ell... Okay. ...When?"

"Er, how about..." He thought about it for a few seconds. "Two o' clock, later on?"

"Um... Okay, then. ...See you."

"You, too. ...'Bye." He hung up and looked at the wall clock to his left. It read _8:04 AM_. He looked down at his coffee and continued drinking it down.

_:("):_

Claire hung up. She exited the study and approached the kitchen.

"Who was that?" Sandra asked her, holding Mr. Muggles in her arm while inserting a fork in a slice of her waffle with the other.

She had already thought of an excuse. "That was Melanie," she said. "She asked if I could lend her my bio-notes for an assignment, and since she's staying at the dorm this weekend, I told her I'll drop by at around two later." It _was_ true, in a way, since her classmate, Melanie, _did_ call her, only it was yesterday for the same reason.

"Oh, alright then," Sandra continued eating.

Claire stuffed a slice of her waffle in her mouth, and wondered what Sylar's reason would be to want to meet with her later on.

_:("):_

Claire went down the stairs, biology notes and car keys in hand, and went out the door. She climbed into her Rogue and turned on the engine. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes to two. _Perfect, _she thought. _Just a five-minute drive from here to the school dormitory, then from there I have around ten minutes to get to the Bridge. Not so late, so I wouldn't appear too eager._ She looked over her seat to exit the driveway and into the street. She drove towards her dorm.

Noah watched her drive away through the window upstairs, to make sure she was telling the truth. Seeing that she was, he smiled and went away from the window.

Claire knocked on the door of the dorm-room of Melanie, Alison, and Carmen. Melanie hurriedly opened the door, and grinned when she saw Claire holding out her bio-notes to her. She took them and hugged her.

"Thanks, Claire!" she beamed. "You're a lifesaver!"

"No problem, Mel," Claire smiled and Melanie let go of her. "See you Monday." She gave her a quick wave and started to walk down the steps. Melanie waved back and watched her walk away as she closed the dorm-room door.

Claire got in her car and drove towards the Bridge. When she arrived, she saw Sylar sitting on the middle of the bridge with both knees drawn towards his body, arms wrapped around them. He was staring into the water, bliss evidently written all over his face, since he wasn't really smiling. She slowly approached him.

She sat a few inches beside him, her legs dangling at the side of the bridge. They were silent for a few seconds. Claire was apparent of the awkwardness in the air, though Sylar didn't really seem to notice.

"It really makes you feel like it's your own personal haven, doesn't it?" he suddenly said after a few more seconds.

Claire jerked, startled, looking at him with widened eyes. "What does?"

"Nature... water..." He never took his eyes off it, and she turned towards the glistening lake beneath them. "It makes you feel relaxed... at peace... makes you feel like a heavy burden has been taken off your shoulders..."

She frowned and looked down at his reflection, "What do you mean? I don't feel any of that at all!"

"That's because you're thinking too much." He finally looked at her.

She glared at him.

"Here." He scooted closer to her, and she flinched, leaning away. He put his arms up in front of his chest defensively, "I'm not going to hurt you, okay?" She kept staring at him, disbelieving. He sighed, "I swear." She scanned his face and slowly sat up. "Thank you." When he was beside her, he put his hands over her eyes, making them close. "Relax," he whispered into her ear. She took a deep breath, and the crease on her brow disappeared, but her hands were still half-clenched and her jaw was still tightened. He made her hands rest flatly on her lap. "Are you relaxed?" he whispered near her cheek, her jaw relaxing a little when her breath hitched.

"Sort of," she admitted, also whispering, though she doesn't know why.

"Pretend I'm not here... Pretend that you're all alone..."

She sighed, "I'll try." She ignored the loud thumping of her heart in her chest.

"Okay. Now..." He took a deep breath, leaning away from her. "Clear your mind..." She obliged. "Then slowly open your eyes..." She did, and the first thing she saw was the lake-water, glistening beautifully under the golden-red-orange-and-pink afternoon sky. Her eyes dazzled in awe, "It's... _beautiful_..."

He smiled. Not a smirk, but a genuine smile of... happiness. To be able to... _share _something he loved with her, perhaps?

Her eyes averted upwards. "I never really saw the afternoon sky _or _the lake like this before..." she told him in a hushed tone.

His smile widened, "You really need to loosen yourself up, even for just a brief amount of time." Her eyes went back to the lake. "When you don't think about your problems too much, and just look around yourself... you'll see how beautiful Mother Earth is..." He sighed, shaking his head, "Sadly, only a few people could see its wondrous beauty..."

She glanced at him, an eyebrow raised, "Never really saw you as a tree-hugger." He chuckled. "Is that why you called me?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "To tell me about _nature's beauty_?" she asked him incredulously.

He chuckled again, "Actually, no. I called you because..." He stared at the water. "Well, I don't really know why, but..." He paused. "A girl told me to." One honey-colored eyebrow raised itself at that. "She's about fourteen, and she calls herself _Crash_..."

"'_Crash_'?" she repeated in disbelief.

He nodded once. "She told me earlier, in a dream, that... I need to control The Hunger... and that I should call you... and tell you to meet with me somewhere at some time..." He sighed, "I guess that what she meant was..." He paused, "_you_... could help me _control_ The Hunger..."

She frowned, staring at him disbelief. "_What_? You _seriously_ think that _I_ would _help_ _**you**_?"

He shook his head. "Not really. But she kind of... _implied _to me that you would, so..."—he shrugged—"I guess so." He chuckled.

She lifted her eyebrow again. She looked away and stared at her reflection, only to catch a glimpse of his. She sighed. "You really think I would help you?"

She saw his reflection shrug. "If you want to..." She saw him move his stare from the water to the sun's reflection near the horizon.

"...Do you trust her?"

"Who, Crash?" He glanced at her, then looked back at the sun's reflection. "I think so..." Pause. "Since she may have some information that are... _important _to me—like what my dreams were telling me—so..."—he shrugged again—"Yeah. I guess so."

She quickly turned to him, her brows furrowed. "What dreams?"

"Well... lately I've been having flashbacks of me going after you for your power in Texas... then, in Costa Verde... then, when I came over to comfort you... then... I've had two dreams about... us..."

"What were in those dreams?" she asked, wondering if they were having somewhat the same dreams as her.

"Well... the first was the future... everyone was gone, the buildings were turning into rubble, and then I saw you..." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You ran up to me and you... _hugged_ me... _tackled me to the ground_, is more like it..." She frowned. "You told me not to leave you alone... I told you I wouldn't and you asked if I'd promise that... after I did you..." He bit his lip, debating whether or not he should tell her the rest. It might freak her out...

"What?" She really wanted to know.

"You kissed me." He looked up at the space in front of him. She blinked, the heat rising in her face went unnoticed as she looked down at the water again.

"Then..." he continued, "The second was... you told me to come over to your room; you wanted to tell me something... but you couldn't... so you just expressed it through an action..."

"What'd I do?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"You kissed me lightly..." He took in a deep breath. "Then..." he continued, "_I_ kissed you..." The heat in her face rose several more degrees. "And then I woke up."

She kept staring at the water, then started slowly, "We... _somewhat _have the same dreams, you know..."

He looked at her, brows furrowed. "What?" She vaguely nodded.

"My first ones were you and I kissing..." she said. "Then snogs... and then, the last recent dream I had was just before I called you again..." She hesitated. "That dream was still about us..." He kept frowning at her. She hesitated again. "We had sex."

He blinked, mildly amused, "Oh," and looked at the water. Suddenly, he chuckled.

She looked at him, frowning. "What?"

He chuckled again. "Nothing, it's just that... we _do_ have almost the same dreams..." He turned serious and met her eyes. "Why do you think we have these dreams?" She shrugged.

Sylar felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked behind him, and his eyes widened. "_Crash_!" Claire turned to look at the girl behind him.

"_You're_ _**Crash**_?" she asked her, brows furrowed once more.

Crash looked at Claire and nodded. Then she looked at them both. "You two have these dreams because they're telling you something..."

They frowned at her confusingly. She continued: "You both need each other..." She looked at Sylar, "Claire can help you become a good person again, Sylar... and, Claire..."—She turned to the blonde girl, who was much older than herself—"Sylar can protect you better than anyone... He can be able to keep you company when everyone else is gone and not feel lonely, angry, bitter, or afraid... He might even give you a family in the future, _if_ you two get that far."

The two looked at each other. Claire scowled at him, not wanting to think of the idea of _sleeping _with him. Sylar raised an amused eyebrow at her and smirked, letting his expression say _Well, we __**could**__, you know..._ to which Claire looked back at Crash, blushing profusely, and he looked back at the black-haired teenager too, smirk still in place.

"Are you the little voice in my head?" Claire asked her.

Crash nodded.

"You need each other." Crash said one last time, and stepped back, letting herself fall into the water behind her.

Sylar and Claire opened their eyes. They were staring in each other's aforementioned pools, both in the same position they were in before Crash came... Only then did they notice the dangerously small space between their faces...

Claire abruptly looked away and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, ignoring the heat that rose in her face again. Sylar did the same, looking at the lake with his legs crossed beneath him. When she chanced a glance at him, she saw that he, too, was blushing slightly.

"Did you see her?" Claire asked him when she looked away again.

"What?" He furrowed his brows, glancing at her reflection.

"Did you see Crash?" she repeated, this time adding the name.

"Yeah..." He looked at the sky. "I did." He paused. "What she told us..."

"...Yeah..." She glanced at her watch. Seven minutes after two. "I... need to go." She stood up.

"Yeah... I know..." He silently went back to the position he was in when she arrived.

She glanced at him, "Um..." and looked away again. "I'll help you control your Hunger some time... when I'm free..."

He didn't move. His neutral yet somehow thoughtful expression didn't change either. "...Okay." He paused. "Thanks."

She nodded. "So... 'Bye."

He nodded once. "'Bye, Claire."

Claire went back in her car and drove home.


	7. Staring Death In The Face

_**Note: Sorry if this is late, but, you see, I just HAD to rewrite this. I just HAD to! I did research and everything for this chapter! Hopefully, it comes out well.**_

_To anyone who has read the Stupid and Sucky Original until my recent update (chapter 23), then I would just like to inform you that I have changed the cyberspace chats to phone calls, 'cos spacing, italicizing, bolding, and etcetera-ing the chat messages are becoming tiring, so yeah._

_And, like,_wow_. This is, like,_5 pages _longer than the Original Chapter 7... ..._Wow_._

_Right, so..._sylar1610, evergirlin, GabrielReid, WillowGray, Isabella97, Woodrow Graham Kenobi-Rimmer, jayden, Hanane, fbdarkangel, _and_anneryn7:_THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING TO MY CHAPTERS!_:3

_:("):_

By next week, on Wednesday night, Claire stared blankly at the computer screen, finishing up her Physics report. Just when she was about to type in her conclusion, her phone rang. She glanced at the Caller ID.

_Sylar._

She took a few seconds before answering.

"Hello?"

"Hey," Sylar's voice greeted her.

"What's up?"

"Nothing much. Except maybe for the fact that Crash told me to call you."

She sighed. "Still following her advice?"

He sighed, too. "Yeah. But I can't help it."

"Why not?" She frowned.

"I already told you. She gave me some... useful information. And every time she talks to me—in a dream, of course (apparently, she can't talk face-to-face with me)—she... _implies_some... _things_."

Her frown deepened. "What kind of things?"

"Things that are of no _interest_to nosy ex-cheerleaders like you," he growled.

She cocked an amused eyebrow, "Oh _really_?"

"Yes."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just am."

"C'mon!"

He sighed again. "Crash knows something about my father. ...My _real_father."

She blinked. "...Oh." She lowered her head, her eyes fixed on the computer screen but not really seeing the words on it. "I know how that feels..."

"Oh _really_?" She could picture him raising an eyebrow at that.

"Yeah, of course." She frowned.

"I thought Noah didn't know a thing about your parents."

"Well, _yeah_, but—"

"See?"

She sighed. "Okay, fine. Never mind." She was silent, and so was he. "So..." she began after a few more seconds, "what did Crash say we should talk about?"

"She didn't say." She could almost see him shrug.

"...Maybe we should talk about this... hunger thing? What _is_ the 'Hunger' anyway?" she added curiously, frowning.

"Well, the Hunger came with my original ability to understand how things work. The Hunger is something I can't really control. ...It makes me want more abilities by taking the abilities of other special people."

"By digging and poking through their brains?" she scowled.

"Examining, actually."

"Mm-hmm..." She frowned thoughtfully. "How does it feel like? The Hunger, I mean...? It shouldn't be so bad, right?"

He snorted. "'Shouldn't be _so bad_?' Yeah right."

"Oh _please_. I'm betting it just feels like starvation."

"It's not," he said gruffly.

"Oh yeah?"

"_Yes_." He sounded angry, but regained his composure with a sigh, "Picture _this_: You're in a door-less, windowless room and you're parched. _So_parched that your throat feels like its burning and your tonsils feel dried-up. And then, suddenly, you see water coming out everywhere, but you _know_that you can't touch them, because they're off-limits. Picking up a bit of that water and drinking it down is a _sin._So what would _you_do, _Claire_?" he growled. "If you _know_that you can't _take_that little ability, but you're just so _goddamn thirsty_that you can't _help it_?"

She was silent.

"I'm sorry." She meant it. "I didn't know..."

"Of course you didn't!" he scoffed. "Who _would_?"

She bit her lip, and changed the _touchy_subject, "So, um... how do you suppose I could help you control it?"

He took a calming breath, "I don't know."

She paused to think. And then, like a freight train, it hit her, emerald orbs widening. "Hey. Why don't we start tomorrow?"

She could picture him frowning. "Um... Alright..."

"Great!" She grinned. "Bridge at five PM?"

"...Ok, sure."

"See you then!"

"Uh, okay... You, too." He was about to hang up when...

"Hey, um..."

"Yes?"

"Can you bring a gun tomorrow?"

She could picture him frown. "Why...?"

"Just bring one. Please?"

"Uh... All right then..."

"Great! See you!"

"Yeah, you, too," he bade before hanging up. (Who wouldn't be freaked out with a suddenly bubbly mood after having a little senti-moment?)

_:("):_

The next day was a cloudy Thursday.

The school bell's rings echoed "FREEDOM" throughout the halls.

"Class dismissed. See you tomorrow," Prof. Crane announced and gathered his things. He spotted Claire walking out of the classroom, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. He walked up beside her. "I noticed that you weren't dozing off anymore, Claire. No more nightmares?"

"No, sir," Claire looked up at him, smiling. "No more nightmares." She huffed. "Well, see you tomorrow, Professor," she bade and strode to her car.

"See you," he returned and walked towards his own car.

Claire turned on the engine and drove to the Bridge. When she had arrived, it was four minutes past five. She spotted Sylar sitting in the middle of the bridge, in the same position he was in the last time they met up there. She walked over to him.

"Sorry, I'm late," she apologized, tucking a few golden strands behind her ear.

"It's okay." He stood. "I didn't mind." She glanced over his shoulder, and noticed a long black bag slung on his back. He shrugged his shoulder, making the bag disappear out of sight.

"What was that?" she inquired curiously.

"The gun," he answered, then cleared his throat, "So, why did you tell me to bring one?" he asked, frowning.

She drew out a red folder from her messenger bag and gave it to him. He flipped it open. "There's a necromancer named Xander Shawntley living somewhere in the forest_."_

"So that explains it," he said more to himself, and handed her the folder back.

She took it from him and slipped it back in her bag, then asked coolly, "So, what kind of—?"

He spoke over her, asking, "How farther up is he?"

She paused, then answered, "Just... farther along. Won't be somewhere in too deep, though." A smirk grew on her face, "Why? You scared?"

He rolled his eyes, "As if I'd be afraid of the forest," and started walking off, away from the clump of bushes hiding the old abandoned inn from view, his unbuttoned long, black trench coat billowing behind him.

She started to jog after him, since his strides covered big distances. "It's not like you've ever _been_in one, anyway."

"Well, neither have you." She shut up. "And, for your information, I happened to be somewhere deep within the woods south from the border after Hiro Nakamura stabbed me."

She raised her eyes at him, eyebrow quirked up curiously, "You were south of the border?"

He nodded.

"How come?" she prodded.

"I was brought there. ...After eight surgeries... It's amazing I still survived."

"Well, you _are_ hard to get rid of," she muttered. From his raised eyebrow, he had heard her. She just rolled her eyes. He chuckled, and then the rest of way was silent.

A few more minutes later, they arrived at an iron fence, horned at the top-ends. Both of them frowned. "That's weird." Claire remarked, poking the top of one horned bar with the pad of her index finger. "The picture of his house didn't have a fence like _this_in it."

"The one with the garden in it, you mean? A cream-colored two-story surrounded by trees?" he asked. She nodded. "That was his old one, most probably."

Claire frowned then her eyes widened in realization. "Oh, right..." Sylar raised an eyebrow at her. She looked at him, her index finger still on the horned end. "I remember that I read in his bio that he set a horde of zombies loose in his neighborhood. He killed a lot of people then." She turned away, now fingering the edges of the horned end, and muttered, "Much more than you have."

He chuckled at this. "What, you thought I was the worst murderer ever?"

She thought about it for a few seconds before finally admitting, "Something like that..." and hesitated before adding, "I really thought you were the worst serial killer ever. Killing more than—"

"I'm not a serial killer," he suddenly interjected.

She looked over at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. "You have a pattern," she pointed out. "You go after specific victims, you collect mementos..."

"Okay, _technically_I am a serial killer," he ground out.

She smirked, "Told ya," and diverted her attention back to the fence. She had never seen a cemetery fence before. Heck, every cemetery she's seen didn't _have_any! "Hmm..." She ran her fingers along the bars.

"Shouldn't we go in and get this over with already?" he suddenly said.

She jerked her hand away from the fence and stared at him, suddenly confused as to how she had gotten here. "Oh," she finally said after remembering. "Right." He rolled his eyes, turned away, and strode off to find the gate. She took another look through the iron fence, then started to jog after him.

The gate wasn't that far off. It was in front of a huge clump of trees, and there seemed to be no way to be able to find it if one were to go through the trees. Sylar started to push the iron gate open, but found it to be locked. Claire had walked over to his side, then she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She looked over to the cement bungalow, where on the front was a wooden door—which had a hole on the center of the left-hand side for a doorknob—and a single window on the left side of the door.

Claire blinked, then squinted, but saw that there was nothing in the window, which was actually just a small square hole. _Huh. That's weird. For a second I thought that there was someone—or something—looking out from it... Oh well._

She turned back to the gate and saw that Sylar made to reach through the bars of gate, but she stopped him by offering, "I'll do it." He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "It'd be better if he saw me first. I _am_ more friendly-looking than you are. And, well... Introductions, you know?" He gazed at her for a few seconds and she stared back, just noticing when the sun shone on his eyes that they were actually dark brown and not black. Or was it just her imagination? Finally, he dropped his hand, but he was still staring into her eyes.

Forcing herself to look away, she walked over to the gate and reached through the bars to lift the lock.

Claire shrieked and Sylar instantly lit up one hand with Elle's electric ability, while the other hand grabbed her elbow and pulled her toward him. She slumped back into him, clutching the front of his shirt, her face pale, her green eyes wide, and her whole body trembling with shock and fright.

A ghostly skeleton hand had grabbed her wrist when she had put her hand through the bars. Its bone was decaying and some ripped parts of clothing and sickly-white flesh hung onto the bones. The hand had fell, limp onto the ground when she had pried it off with Sylar's help. When it had, its fingers waved in the air like a spider's legs when it's upside-down. It rolled onto its palm and stood up on its spider leg-like fingers.

"Oh shit," Sylar muttered, eyes widening.

Another hand had suddenly shot up from a nearby grave, this one just as rotten, skeletal, and skin-clung as the first. The arm bent to dig its fingers into the earth in front of it, then pushed down with all its might. Slowly, a decaying, bone-white, worm-infested skull-head with one eye rolling in one socket rose up from the ground. Next, rose out its skeletal torso that had ripped bits of clothing clinging unto it, a pair of legs with torn pants, and skeletal feet. The zombie was looking at them murderously as it rose from the ground and attached its hand back to its right wrist. It slowly half-limped, half-trudged towards the gate even as two more zombies rose from graves nearest the gate.

"Holy hell..."

"Umm... I think we should... You know, _tell_him that we mean no harm and such...?" Claire suggested shakily, her grip on his shirt tightening by the second.

He rolled his eyes, "Riiight. Like a ball of electricity says 'we come in peace,'" he pointed out, sarcasm dripping in his tone.

"Well you could just _put it off_!" she half-screamed.

"I _can't_!" He glared down at her.

"_Why not_?" She glared back.

"Be_cause_, Claire, what if they _climbed over the fence_?" Claire froze, wide-eyed with shock. He was right.

She glared at him again and shrieked when more zombies rose from their graves near the fence. "Sylar... _do_something!" she pleaded, eyes widening with fear. She could survive bullets, fires, and falls, sure. But _zombies_?

"You're not welcome here," a low male voice hissed in the distance.

"I'm looking for someone named Xander Shawntley. Are you there?" Sylar called out.

"_You're not welcome here..._" the voice hissed again.

"P-_please_, sir. W-we just... we just want to _talk_!" Claire begged.

"_Liar_!"

"No really!" Sylar called again before extinguishing the electricity in his palms. He lowered his raised hands, with one of them gripping Claire's waist protectively. "_Now_can we talk?"

A hesitation...

"H-how do I know you're not lying...?" The voice became less low, less threatening, less harsh, and more fearful and uncertain.

"Because I _hate_liars myself, Xander." Sylar told him. "Now would you let us in?"

Another hesitation...

"Alright..." He still seemed unsure, even when his trembling form came out of the house.

He was in his early twenties with dull, brown hair that stuck up everywhere except the front, and a pale, sunken face with bulging dark eyes that had equally dark circles beneath them. The soil and dust on his light brown pants, plain dark brown shirt, and gray vest increased in population when he tripped over his own bare feet, and fell on his face.

Immediately, the zombies nearest him helped him up gently, like a close friend, parent, or sibling would. He spat the dirt off his mouth, gasped a whole-hearted thank-you to the zombies, and continued his shaky stroll towards the gate.

For Claire, it seemed like an eternity for Xander Shawntley to finally reach, unlock, and open the gate. Even when they entered through it, the zombies took less menacing—but still menacing nonetheless—stances. And even as they were led into his house, Sylar never let go of her, and she never loosened her grip. Being the daughter of Noah Bennet, she learned to never let her guard down. Ever. And that included anything to do with Sylar.

But she somehow felt safe under his arm.

She looked up at him. His eyes were sweeping around the graveyard, making sure that not one of the zombies were thinking of attacking them. She let a small smile creep onto her face and rested her head on the side of his chest as they entered the small cement bungalow.

_:("):_

Xander Shawntley is a loner.

Was then, still is, and will always be one.

No one from his school ever visited him whenever he got sick. Nor did any of them give him words of encouragement and strength when it spread around that he was anemic. The only ones who ever did were... well, no one. He never knew any uncles or aunts, or family friends. His dad freaked and panicked when he heard the news that his girlfriend was _pregnant_because of him and went back home to Texas, but his plane crashed from an unexpected storm. His mom was the only one who cared for him, but she, too, left him when she found out about what he was.

It was just an accident... A freak accident of a fifteen-year-old boy's hormones...

He didn't know that he could talk to the dead. He didn't know that when he had told his mother that his dreams of zombies awakening in the middle of the night was because of his ability, she would tell him that his thoughts were just all addled up. He didn't know that she would then call a hospital for the psychologically and mentally unhinged. He didn't know that when he felt the panic rise inside him when the doctors had forced him into a straitjacket and dragged him out the door, his last sight of his mother would be her regretful but determined expression, silent tears streaming down her face. He didn't know that when he hadn't frankly cared, he would have the power to end the life of the only one who ever loved him. He didn't know that when he suddenly wished that the only person who had cared for, loved, and raised him would just _die_, a horde of zombies would suddenly run from the graveyard between their town and the next to his house and eat the doctors' and his mother's brains and innards. He didn't know that when he thought he would be next in line for a gory and very painful way to die he would be wrong.

He didn't expect the zombies to help him out of his straitjacket through the several times they fumbled at the straps. He didn't expect them to help him up to his feet. He didn't expect the ones nearest him to help him dust himself off. He didn't expect one of them—most presumably the "head" due to the Spanish general uniform he was wearing—to step up to him...

_Hrrrrrraaaghh_... the head of the horde had said in a gravelly tone. But Xander still understood him; _"My name is Juan de la Nova."_

"Juan... de la... Nueva...?"he asked shakily. The zombie nodded. "Oh. Um..." For courtesy's sake, he started to introduce himself, "I-I'm Xander—" but Juan raised his hand, indicating him to be silent. He clamped his mouth shut and felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

"_We know who you are, Xander Shawntley."_

Xander's eyes widened and his jaw opened and closed like a fish out-of-water.

"_You called us. We responded. We know who calls us. Your mind tells us about you."_Juan answered his unspoken question.

"...Oh."

"_Are you alright?"_

"_Y-yes... Fine, th-thanks..."_he said shakily and was surprised to hear coherent English and the same groan-like language come out from his mouth.

"_What was wrong?"_

"_I-I... I told my mother about my ability that... that I could... talk to the dead..."_

"_She didn't take it well."_It wasn't a question.

"_N-no..."_

Juan looked thoughtful; well, from what Xander could see, it _looked_like it since Juan cocked his head to one side and his eyes rolled around in their sockets, staring up at the ceiling. After a few moments, the zombie finally said, _"You're welcome."_

Xander was taken aback. Blinking, he said, _"Th-thank you, by the way."_

Juan put his rotting, flesh-clung skeleton-hand on Xander's shoulder. Xander felt disgusted, but he also found it oddly comforting... _"When you need us again,"_Juan said to him, _"you know what to do."_

Numbly, Xander nodded, and the zombies slowly sunk through the tiled floor—as if, phasing through it—and were halfway through disappearing from sight and leaving no trace—except for a strong smell of rotted flesh, soil, and death that hung in the air—of their arrival when they and Xander suddenly heard a commotion coming towards the house. They turned towards the front door and immediately, an ear-piercing scream filled the room.

The neighbors had seen the horde come into the house.

Why wouldn't they? It was only nine o' clock in the evening!

Panicked, Xander looked over at the zombies, who had risen up from the floor and were poised to strike. His eyes widened in realization of what they were about to do.

"No! Don't—don't eat them! Don't hurt them!" Xander begged, but the zombies just stared at him, as if waiting for another, more satisfying order.

While Xander and the zombies were having eye-contact, the neighborhood disappeared and came back again with torches, pitchforks, and guns, screaming incoherently.

Finally, when the neighbors were at the porch, Juan spoke up in English and in Zombie, _"Hrrrrrrrrrraaaaarrrgh. If we don't hurt them, they will hurt you. Hrrrarrararrrrgh... You were given this ability so that someone could protect you..._Hrraaa_rrrrrrrrrrarrrgh..._We _are supposed to protect you..."_

At that, the zombies charged at the neighborhood that had assembled at the doorway. Xander kept his back turned from them, tuning out the screams, the wails, the sounds of clothing and flesh being ripped off, the sounds of dying screams...

A sob escaped his throat. He didn't mean to... He never meant to...

The next day, the headline in the evening news was all it took for Xander to get out: _"Anneryn Shawntley, 25, was found dead in her house with three doctors from_Damien's Hospital for the Psychologically and Mentally Unhinged_; all of them had their brains and organs taken from them. On their porch and doorway, the whole neighborhood's corpses had their brains and organs taken from them as well. No one from the next towns know how they died for it was said to have happened at around nine in the evening. Surprisingly, Anneryn's only child, Xander Shawntley, is still found to be alive. How he survived, no one knows. No one also knows why a strong stench of rotted flesh and soil was in the air of the Shawntley residence."_

Xander quickly booked an immediate flight to Costa Verde, California when the news came.

For eight years he has lived in that little cement house he made all by himself. He never knew how easy it was to make cement; everything he needed to make it was in the earth itself. How long it took to make it, he didn't know; but it felt like _years_. The only other things in his house were a few essential things, most of which he had brought with him from his house—some clothes, a bar of soap (the only thing he buys with all the savings he and his mother had), a cot he had used for camp when he was a kid, his blanket, his two favorite pillows, a cleaver, a chef's knife, a paring knife (which were hung on rusted old nails he had found and hammered in with a rock), and a spear, which he had made himself—and had managed to get the knives past security by telling the guard that they were his uncle's and that said uncle needed them back, for his mother had forgotten to give them back the last time they had stayed, and that he couldn't send them through mail, of course. He didn't even know what day, month, or festivity it was anymore. He didn't care. The only way he knew that it was already eight years was when a blond teenage girl by the name of Claire Bennet asked him "how it was like to live all by himself in a house he made and lived in for eight years?"

This question took him back to the present, since he had been thinking when the last time he had visitors was... He blinked his big, bulging dark eyes. "Wha—oh." He frowned, mentally calculating, dark brown eyes fixed upon the dirt floor beneath him, then looked up, a curious expression on his face, "It's been eight years, you say?"

"Yes, Mr. Shawntley." The girl nodded.

Xander shifted uncomfortably on the dirt floor, not because he was still not used to sitting on the floor but because of the use of the term "Mr. Shawntley" on him was so... _alien_. "Erm... would you please... _not_call me that? ...It's... It's just... Just Xander. ...Alright?"

"Oh. Well... alright, um... Xander."

He nodded vaguely, "Thank you," then averted his eyes back to the dirt floor in front of him.

Silence stretched between them.

"Erm..." Xander suddenly said, still shifting uncomfortably due to the knowledge that he actually had _visitors_. "So..." His eyes were still fixed on the floor in front of him. "What... why... I've never had... Nobody really..." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I thought no one knew..." He looked up, his dark eyes had a desperate look to _know_in them. "How did you know I was here?"

"We... keep track of most specials," Claire replied.

"How?" Xander frowned.

"Er... We have our ways."

"...Ah."

Silence...

"By... _'most specials'_... do you mean that... there are... _others_? ...Like me?" Xander looked up hopefully.

"Well, not exactly, but, yes."

"You mean someone can talk to the dead, too?" he asked, trying not to sound too excited, but failed.

"Well... we don't really know anyone else who _can_, but... other people can also... _do_another things..." She raised her hand up, palm facing him. He frowned. The other man who came with her, Sigh-la-something-or-other, reached out and enclosed the girl's hand in his. Mere seconds later, Xander gasped, eyes widening, and almost fell onto his back had his arms not supported him; the other man's hand had glowed a bright, eerie orange and when he took his hand off, the glow disappeared slowly like a dying light, and the girl's hand... _healed_.

"You're..." Xander breathed out, unable to express his joy in words. "You're like _me_?" He couldn't really believe it.

Claire nodded and withdrew her hand slowly. "Sylar"—she glanced over at the other man (_Oh, so_that's _his name._)—"can do much more than be radioactive." She looked back at Xander. "He can understand how things work, and... well... he..." She bit her lip, trying to think of the best way to describe her companion's ability. "He... Let's just say he gets his other abilities by that."

"...Oh." Xander slowly sat back up, his brow creased into a frown, his dark eyes boring into Claire's green ones. "So... why did you come here, then?" he asked suspiciously.

"We want to see how your ability works," Claire answered.

"But... you've already seen it, right? ...Earlier? And... he can"—he glanced at Sylar, then looked back at Claire, when he suddenly felt very _uncomfortable_when he looked at the other man—"understand how things work, you say? So... that means he can understand my ability, right? So... you could... leave now... right?" he asked uncertainly, hoping that he didn't sound like he was deliberately kicking them out, or that his eyes didn't look _too_hopeful.

"Well... yes, but... we just... want to know what you can _do_exactly," Claire elaborated.

He studied her for a few moments, still frowning, then asked, "Why, though?"

Claire was taken aback. "Why... what?"

"Why are you here? Who sent you?" he asked her more suspiciously, his dark brown eyes narrowing.

"We... we work for a company that... that watches over specials..." she replied uncertainly.

"What kind of company?" His dark eyes narrowed still, boring into hers.

She was unable to tear her eyes away from his. "A... A company that watches over any special whose ability starts to manifest, and... we... we keep track of their progress, and... um... that's it." She hoped her voice wasn't _too_shaky.

He didn't respond; his eyes just kept boring scorching holes into her eyes. Finally, he asked, "You're leaving something out."

She blinked. "W-what...?"

"There's something you're not telling me. How do I know I can trust you if you won't tell me everything?" he demanded in a low growl.

"I-I... I already... I told you everything!" she sputtered.

"No. You didn't," he accused, then snapped, "_Tell me_!"

She flinched at the harshness of his voice and blurted, "They cage the dangerous ones!" She slapped her hand over her mouth once the words flew out of her mouth.

His eyes widened in realization. "...You think I'm dangerous, don't you?" he said, half-terrified, half-accusing.

Her eyes widened as well and she removed her hand from her mouth saying, "No!" She realized she had shouted, causing the zombies nearest the house to peer through the solitary window and through the crack on the door. She blushed, embarrassed, and, in a lower voice, explained, "We don't think you're dangerous. We just want to—"

"Know how my ability works," he snorted, grinning evilly. "Right. As if I would believe that _crap_ again."

"No, really! I swear!" She was close to panic; the situation was getting _way_out of hand.

"_Fuck it_!" he snapped, getting angrier and angrier by the second. He was appalled at himself; he never swore before (well... maybe only that one time when he got _really_pissed off at one of his classmates who kept making up stories about him; unfortunately, the teacher had just came into the room when he told said classmate to "go to hell," that he got sent to detention for _"using vulgar language"_). He got to his feet, fuming, "Do you really expect me to be so _gullible_?"

Claire's eyes widened, "N-no, no, of course not! Please, Xander, we just want to help—"

He laughed. "Help? _Help_?" He laughed again. "Yeah, right. I've met people like you before; saying that they just want to _help me_but they actually just want to cause me so much _pain_," he growled, glaring at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the zombies nearest the house glaring at his visitors as well.

"We're not like them!" She stood up as well, pleading for him to understand. "_Please_, Xander. We don't think you're dangerous at all!"

"_Bullshit_!"

"_Hhhhrrrrrgh..._" one of the zombies growled out.

Xander looked over at them, frowning curiously. "What?"

_:("):_

Sylar had stayed silent over the whole conversation. Even when Xander started cursing. But now...

Sylar frowned thoughtfully at Xander and the zombie at the door who had "growled."

"_Hrrgh_?" Xander asked. "What?"

Sylar blinked. _Interesting..._

The wheels in his head started turning. His fingers itched, wanting to rip open the other man's skull to find out how that _interesting_ability worked... How he... _ticked_, as Sylar likes to say.

But he restrained himself. He tried to decipher what they were saying.

"_Hrrrrrrrggghh...?_" the zombie asked.

Xander shook his head, "_Hrrargh..._ _No._"

"'No' what?" Claire asked.

Xander glared at her and she fell silent. He turned his attention back to the zombie, "_Hrrrrgh..._" he told it; apparently, he "turned off" his English.

"_Hrr_—" the zombie tried to say, but Xander cut him off, "_Hrrargh! Hrrrrrrrrghh_.._._" he told it firmly.

The zombie fell silent.

Xander turned back to a frowning Claire. "None of your business," he hissed, since it was apparent that she wanted to know what his and the zombie's conversation was about.

Claire opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, her eyes downcast. Finally, she said, "I-I'm sorry..."

"Sorry that you came here in the first place since you found out you couldn't _lure_me to come with you so that you could _cage_me?" he fumed, causing Claire look up at him again. She opened her mouth to deny it, but Xander wasn't done, "Sorry that you came here just so you could invade my _solitude_?_Sorry_"—he spat the word out like a bad taste—"that you came here for _nothing_? _Sorry_that you would go back to whatever hellhole of a _company_you would go back to _empty-handed_? _Sorry_that you wouldn't be able to _see how my ability__**worked**_?"

"Xander, please—"

"Go to hell!" he barked.

"_Hrrrrrrrggghh...?_" the zombie at the door repeated its earlier question.

Xander started breathing heavily, still fuming, but was able to give the zombie one word, both in "zombie" and in English: "_Hrgh_. _Yes_."

At that, the zombie at the door stepped back and let a zombie in a Spanish general's uniform inside the house. The Spanish zombie stepped up next to Xander, placing a rotten skeleton-hand on his shoulder, and said to him in accented English, "_This is why you should never accept any visitors._"

"I know, Juan," Xander told the zombie, almost like he was apologizing.

Juan the zombie's eyeballs rolled in their sockets when he looked up at Xander's visitors. He said in a commanding voice in both "zombie" and accented English: "_Hrrrgh. Kill them_."

At that, the zombies at the door half-shrieked, half-growled, _"HRAAAAAAAAGH!_" and crashed into the house, charging at Claire and Sylar.

Claire shrieked and fell back, hitting her back against Sylar, who had just got to his feet. Panic-stricken, she whirled around and desperately grabbed his shirt, burying her face into his chest and preparing herself for the worst, all the while screaming her lungs and vocal cords off. Meanwhile, Sylar had summoned his electricity once more and began to strike the nearest zombies as he dragged Claire with him towards the bed, which was quite far from the door and window, where a few zombies had started to climb into, not at all hurrying unlike the few zombies who had been at the door. The zombies who had climbed through the window would have been leering evilly if they still had lips.

Sylar pushed them back to get some time, as he tried to snap the blonde out of her fright while electrocuting some more zombies who were charging madly at them, "Claire. _Claire_!" The five last zombies who were at the door had their hair burned off and their eyes, torso, and limbs explode, leaving them armless, legless, blind, and blackened. "_Claire_! Come back to me!"

By now, Claire had stopped screaming and tears had started to fall down her rosy cheeks, her whole body trembling with fright. She looked up at Sylar, her grip on his shirt tightening. "What...?" she croaked.

"I need to _help me_here!" he told her, mentally pushing back the zombies that had come too close to them.

"Wh-what...?"

"Your gun! Do you have a gun?" he asked frantically, electrocuting and pushing back more zombies.

"Y-yes..."

"Take it out! _Now_!" he barked. He didn't want to be so commanding, but more zombies were advancing towards them, reaching out to claw and bite their fresh food. He glanced at his left, saw three zombies about to tackle them from the air, and turned to face them to watch their electrocution more clearly.

Reluctantly, she let go of Sylar's shirt with one hand and used it to rummage in her bag for her gun. She took out her father's pistol, which she had sneaked out, and started to shoot at a nearby zombie with a surprisingly steady hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one zombie charge at Sylar from out of his peripheral vision and shot it squarely between the eyes, causing it to fall onto its back as she shot at its forehead twice more. Looking to her right, she pushed at a zombie that had grabbed her arm and shot at its solitary eye before shooting at its brain. _Six shots,_she thought. She looked behind her, let go of Sylar's shirt, and swiftly took out another pistol (which she had also sneaked out from her dad) before squarely shooting at two zombies in the forehead.

Sylar was awed at her precision. He never knew that she had so much practice with any guns. He looked over his shoulder and electrocuted a zombie that had reached for his collar. _I guess it was a bad idea to turn my back at the window, _he thought to himself, before eyeing the far corner; from there, no zombies would be able to attack them from behind, but they might be suffocated by all the zombies. _Dammit, how many zombies _are _there in this rat hole! _He sighed and reached behind him, swiftly taking out the gun he had brought in the long, black bag. His movement caught Claire's eye and she turned around to see what he had in his hand. Her eyes widened in awe.

"You have a _shotgun_?" she asked in admiration.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah." He cocked his gun and shot at one of the zombies that had started to charge at him. Its head was blown off, its brain flying out in bits, its eyes ricocheting from the walls, its jaw falling to the floor with its uncontrolled body falling after it.

"_NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_!" Xander scream reverberated in Sylar's sensitive ears. Sylar looked at him over the now-advancing zombies' heads; he was staring in wide-eyed despair at the zombies Sylar had electrocuted, the fallen zombies Claire had shot, and the recently headshot zombie. Juan the zombie had his rotted arms wrapped firmly around Xander's waist, holding him back with grief etched on his decayed face.

Claire had shrieked as well. Sylar looked down at her after shooting another couple of zombies in the head. A zombie had wrapped its arms around Claire and started to neck her, though it was doing more biting than suckling, her blood dripping down her red top. Another zombie had raised her forearm and started to bite it off, dripping more blood onto her already-red shoes. She shot at the zombie biting at her neck, then the one at her arm, and they both fell to the floor, bloodless bullet holes on their foreheads and fresh blood dripping from their mouths. Claire wiped off the blood on her neck as she bent her gun-arm over her shoulder to shoot at an impatient screeching zombie that had charged at her from behind before it could reach her. It, too, fell on the floor with its double-dead comrades. Claire raised her eyes to Sylar's who had his eyebrows raised in wonder. She shrugged modestly but was biting down a smile.

Sylar chuckled, before pushing more zombies back with his mind and giving a zombie that had its arms flailing about wildly a headshot. He looked around and mentally counted off the double-dead zombies and the zombies left. _Let's see... that's... 28 down, so that's..._He consulted his mental calculator. _Wow. That's a lot left..._He shrugged and gave an approaching zombie a headshot.

"Well, how many are left?" Claire asked as she shot three more zombies in the head. **34**

"Including the three you just shot?" Sylar responded, shooting three more zombies and mentally pushing back the others. "And the four I just checked off? 64 left."

"Wow." Claire blinked, then shot another zombie in its forehead. "63. That's a lot."

"I know." He gave a headshot to another approaching zombie. "62."

Claire kicked at one zombie in the stomach while whacking another's head with one pistol, then shot at their heads. "60." She looked over her shoulder at him, "Are we gonna keep counting off the remaining zombies until we reach zero?" she inquired, an eyebrow raised.

Sylar shrugged, smirking, "Probably," and shot the head of two more zombies. "58," he said before quickly reloading. He had just got to reloading 5 bullets when a couple of zombies charged at him. Without looking up, he roughly pushed them back with his mind as he continued to reload. When all 10 bullets were in, he cocked his gun again and shot at the two zombies that had been pushed to the floor with the force of his mental shove. "56," he said and grinned over at Claire, who rolled her eyes but was grinning as well.

A zombie grabbed Sylar by the collar, "_Fuck_!" he screeched before he got pushed onto the ground by the zombie. It and several more zombies started ripping off one of his beloved button-down shirts and clawing at his abdomen to get at his intestines. His screams of pain and agony reverberated through the whole bungalow, mingling with Xander's grief-stricken wails. _And Claire actually complains about not feeling pain!_

Roughly, Sylar kicked at the more pain-inflicting zombies and mentally pushed back at the others. He got up when they had fallen to the floor. Unfortunately, they quickly got to their feet again. Sylar groaned in frustration, "Oh, come _on_! Don't you _ever_give up?" and shot the head of the zombie that had grabbed his collar and electrocuted the rest.

"48 left," Sylar commented nonchalantly to Claire, looking over at her as he mentally pushed back more zombies. He raised an eyebrow at her expression, "Claire...?"

_:("):_

Claire was staring at Sylar's bloody, healing, but still exposed torso with her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide.

_Oh. My._God_,_she thought, even as two words kept looping around her head: _SoHotSoHotSoHotSoHoooooot..._ She shook her head to will these thoughts away. She looked up at his face and realized that she had been caught. She felt her blood rise in her face. "Sorry," she muttered, thankful that Sylar can't read minds. She looked over her shoulder, ignoring Sylar's smirk, and shot some zombies. "How many did you say were left?"

"48," Sylar repeated, still smirking. He looked over his shoulder and shot at a zombie.

"Make that 43, including yours," Claire told him.

"Forty-_two_," he said, shooting another zombie's head off.

A zombie had ripped off the back of Claire's shirt; she gasped in surprise, her eyes wide as the front of her top fell to the floor, exposing a hell of a lot of skin and underwear. "Oh _crap_," she said, then felt a tingling sensation at her back. She looked over her shoulder and found the zombie that had ripped off her shirt to be clawing at her sides and back, but since the clawing motions were consecutive, she couldn't heal. She glared at it and elbowed its head, knocking it down to floor, and shot it between its eye holes. She covered her clothed breasts with her left arm, half-hugging herself. "Forty-one," she heard Sylar say. She looked over at him and saw that his cheeks were a bright shade of red. She felt her cheeks flush as well.

"_Forty_," she looked at him pointedly, and he looked over at her with a raised eyebrow just as she shot a zombie in the head, still gazing into Sylar's eyes.

He smirked, "Forty," and nodded, ignoring the exposed skin beneath her neck. She smiled.

"Stop! _**Stop**_!" Xander commanded, and immediately, the zombies stopped in their tracks and looked back at him, still being held back by Juan. Claire and Sylar looked over the zombies' heads at Xander as well. Tears were streaming down his face and if Juan still had tear ducts, Claire was sure that he would be crying too, only, because he doesn't _have_any, it was apparent that he was silently grieving as well. "Stop..." Xander begged, this time to Claire and Sylar, "s_top,_" it came out as a croak, "stop..." he sobbed, and he lowered his head to let his dull, brown hair hide his tear-stained face as more tears strolled down his cheeks.

"We've stopped," Claire told him consolingly.

Xander shuddered under the pressure of grief. It was foreign to him. He had never grieved the loss of anyone before... Not even his parents... He didn't really love his father... He was just... _sad_. ...Sad that his father won't be able to see him grow up... Won't be able to be there for him... He should've grieved the death of his mother. ...The only person who had ever been there for him... But he had only felt sadness, as well...

But right then, when he witnessed the zombies—_his_ zombies (well... sort of)—being electrocuted, burnt, blinded, decapitated, and shot... he felt grief. Not just the sadness that he felt for his father and mother, but true grief; loss... His only friends—they felt more like family to him—had been murdered before his very eyes... He couldn't take it...

Xander sobbed again, "Please... just _stop_..." he gasped out in between tears, "stop it..." a sob escaped his throat, "_please_..."

"We've stopped," Sylar told him, parroting Claire's words, but his tone was firm and not a hint of pity was laced in it.

Xander looked up at them, his tears blurring his sight. "Don't kill them... Don't kill any more... _Please_..."

"We won't," Sylar reassured firmly, "if you will let _them_not kill _us_."

Silence...

"Alright," came his throaty croak of a reply. He looked at the zombies and nodded at them; they nodded back and silently filed out of the bungalow, heads hung low as if they, too, were silently grieving, and crawled back down their graves. He looked over his shoulder at Juan, who nodded, let him go and followed the other zombies into his own grave, which was just outside Xander's door, still silently grieving, himself. Xander looked over at his visitors. They were both blood-stained and breathing heavily. Xander noticed Claire topless. He blushed and averted his eyes to his blank, gray cement wall. "I'm sorry."

"_We're_sorry," Claire told him.

"Whichever," he said softly, only wanting them to go away so that he can have his solitude back; it was because of _them_that 58 of his friends were gone...

Claire nodded and started to walk out of the house, but not before bidding him goodbye. Xander just nodded at their farewells and, when he heard the door close behind them, he slumped against the wall behind him, covering his face with both pale hands, and started to grieve again, his shoulders shuddering with his sobs and tears.

_:("):_

Claire and Sylar walked back to the Bridge in silence, both blushing profusely; Sylar had taken off his trench coat and was starting to dust it off, leaving his only clothing on his torso as his demolished-and-barely-recognizable black button-down, while Claire was still half-hugging herself, her dad's pistols in her bag and her free hand clutched its strap so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Claire ignored the flames that kept burning hotter and hotter in her cheeks, her entire face as her grips tightened. The air was cool and breezy, as if there had not been any ungodly presences earlier. She felt herself shudder, not from the thought of the zombies, but because of the cool afternoon air; though she can't feel pain and the like, her body is still responding to it.

Suddenly, she felt something warm and big cover her shoulders, a comfortable weight resting on them. She stopped, startled, and looked over her shoulder. Sylar had put his trench coat on her shoulders, but had not taken his hands off her yet. His dark brown eyes were blank but a message was etched somewhere in them. Understanding, Claire let go of herself and her bag and slid her arms through the sleeves of Sylar's trench coat. She was surprised at its warmth, but perhaps it was just from sheer adrenaline that made it that way...

"Thanks..." she murmured, surprised by his sudden chivalry. She glanced sideways at him as she buttoned his coat up and clutched it tighter to herself to hide any more exposed skin. He simply shrugged and walked past her, striding back to the bridge—which was not yet visible—as he took off what was left of his shirt. Claire took a moment to admire the way his muscles moved as he took off and threw aside his shirt. She averted her eyes to her shoes, blushing redder than before, and jogged after him, looking at the trees near Sylar, but not directly at him.

When she had finally fallen in step beside him, she slowed her pace and drew the coat tighter around her with both hands.

A few moments of silence passed between them, only broken when they both heard the soft, silent, almost unmoving waves of the lake at the Bridge. They had arrived on it when Sylar said, "Keep it."

Claire looked up at him, startled once more, "E-Excuse me?" She wasn't sure she heard him clearly.

"Keep it," he repeated. "But by the next time we meet, I'm taking it back, alright?" She opened her mouth to respond, but he strode off towards the abandoned inn, and vanished from sight behind the clump of bushes and trees. She closed her mouth and ran after him, still gripping the coat tightly. When her car came into her line of sight, he wasn't there anymore.

Sighing, she walked towards her car, unlocking it, and as she slid onto the driver's seat and closed the door, she took the coat off, then her sling bag, throwing it onto the passenger's seat, and put the coat on once more. Turning on the engine, she drove back home, thinking about Sylar all the way.

_:("):_

Claire climbed into her window and stealthily went into her room. Depositing her bag onto the bed, she took off Sylar's trench coat once more and hung it in her closet, then took out a red shirt very similar to the one she wore to school that day; luckily, she had bought two of them before when she was in the shopping mall that weekend.

After flattening the creases with her palms, she slung her bag over her head and onto her shoulder again, and slowly climbed out of her window. Carefully, she climbed down the tree near her window and walked towards their front door as casually as she can.

When she had entered and closed the door behind her, she called, "Hey, mom!" Her mother, who was in the kitchen, fixing dinner, looked over her shoulder at her and smiled, "Hey, Claire. What took you?"

"Library," she stated simply as she half-jogged up the stairs.

"Dinner will be ready in around ten minutes!" Sandra called out to her when she was on the landing.

"Okay!" Claire called back and went inside her room, closing the door behind her before plopping herself face-first onto her bed, and sighed. She lifted her head and looked out of the window, at the half-visible sun preparing to set and casting a golden orange tint on the earth. She kicked off her bloody shoes, climbed on her bed and started rummaging through her bag. She took out Xander Shawntley's file and her dad's pistols before zipping her bag closed and jumping off her bed. She opened her door, and peered out the deserted hallway.

She tiptoed downstairs and, after checking to see that her mom was still too busy with dinner, entered her father's study. Hastily, she put the things she borrowed to their rightful places and exited the room, closing the door behind her. She padded up the steps three at a time and just opened her door when she heard her dad open the front door. Hastily, she closed her door behind her and ran towards the bed, diving onto it face-first and hugging the covers.

**_**:("):_

"Hello?" Claire greeted into her phone that night after another delicious dinner at the Bennet house.

"Hey," she heard Sylar's playful voice greet.

A small unconscious smile crept onto her lips. "So...?"

"Crash," he said simply.

"Ah." She nodded. _Figures._ "What'd she say?"

"Nothing much..."

"Hmm..."

"Hey, Claire?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you still going to... help...?"

"Of course," her tone implied how confused she was that he doubted her.

"Sorry."

She shrugged, "No biggie."

"...So... When next?"

"Umm..." she thought for a moment, then pulled her bag towards her and, after opening and unzipping it, she took out another red folder, opening it. "When are you free?"

"Any day."

"Oh. Right." She checked her schedule in her head. "How about... Saturday? Our science group and I are making a project after school so I have a reason to be out late. We—as in, our group and I—are meeting up at six, so..." she raised an eyebrow, "Is five o'clock okay?"

"Sure. Still the Bridge?"

She nodded, "Still the Bridge."

"Alright," he agreed. "See you then."

"You, too."

"...Good night, Claire-bear. ...By the way, that's what Crash told me to do."

She rolled her eyes. "That girl is _crazy_."

He chuckled.

She smiled, "Good night, Sylar." And she hung up.


	8. Breathless

_I got TWO WORDS for ya: SCHOOL. __**SUCKS**__._

_Also, it is very, very hard... So, that's basically why I haven't updated for almost a __**year**__!_

_Anyways, I have decided to change the plot line, two OCs, and... I guess that's it. This is gonna be _fun_! _:D_ Thanks to anyone and everyone who's reviewed! And, to anyone who actually cares about this piece of crap, sorry it took so long to update... _:L

_:("):_

_The Bridge, 5pm_

"Thank you," Claire said as she handed Sylar his trench coat back.

Sylar just shrugged and put it on while asking, "So who's the next one?"

Claire opened her bag and took out a red folder, opening it and reading aloud, "Her name's Alicia Montgomery, 20 years old, and lives in Sky Lane."

"A block from where I live," Sylar murmured to himself.

Claire looked up from the folder and closed it, "So, are you ready?" Sylar shrugged and followed her to her car.

_:("):_

Since the old abandoned inn was somewhere just outside town, it was a long way back. It was also very silent. Even when they were back in the Costa Verde roads, or when they parked at Sky Lane, or when they stepped in the elevator, or even when they were in front of the door of Room 69, 5th Floor.

Claire was the one who knocked.

"Yes?" came a playful-sounding voice of a young, spirited female.

"Um, is a Miss Alicia Montgomery here?"

"Yer talkin' to 'er," the voice replied from behind the door, playfully accenting her voice, "Why? Whaddaya want with 'er?"

"We'd like to talk with you, Ma'am." Then added, "About your... ability."

There was silence from behind the door.

Then laughter.

"I ain't got no ability," Alicia replied, chortling.

Claire sighed and looked around warily before whispering to the dully blue-white mahogany door, "Miss Montgomery—"

"Alex."

Claire blinked, then said, "Um... Alright, _Alex_, then. Erm... Alex... we know that you have an ability. We're like _you_."

Alex was silent on the other side of the door.

"How'd I know you're not lying?" she asked shakily, losing her playful demeanor.

"If you would just open the door, even just a little, we'll show you."

Silence...

"Alright..." Alex still sounded uncertain and it showed in her lightly-tanned face when she opened the door very slightly that only half of her face, her raven-colored hair, and only one blazing blue-gray eye showed.

"Thank you," Claire told her before looking over her shoulder at Sylar, who nodded and shot a small yet powerful spark of electricity at her raised hand, singeing it.

Alex yelped, shocked, "What the he—" she stopped mid-word as her eye widened with amazement when she saw Claire's formerly burned hand heal in front of her. She opened the door fully, showing that her raven hair was cut short enough for it to hover above her shoulders and that some strands were colored white and red and blue and violet. "Come in, come in, hurry! Won't want anyone to see ya now," she told them, waving a hand towards her apartment as she stepped aside to let them pass.

_:("):_

Everything in the apartment of Alicia Montgomery—"Alex" as she most likely prefers—was... odd, Sylar mused.

The living room and kitchen—divided only by the small bar—had bone-white walls and floors—with a furry, white rug for the living room and white diamond tiles with black, triangular edges for the kitchen. All furniture and appliances—the long, spacey couch and the two adjoining armchairs, the coffee table and television set in front of it, the bar, and the fridge—were black.

Even most of the paintings on the wall were black and white! The black-and-white paintings depicted a woman who was either dancing with the breeze or whose lower torso was one with the wind, being blown away. The rest were of a grinning and dancing young girl with millions and millions of colors in her background.

"Did you make all these?" Claire politely asked, looking at the paintings.

"Um, yeah. I did," Alex confirmed, nodding.

"They're _beautiful_..."

Alex's cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. "Thanks..."

"But, um... If I may ask... I noticed that most of them are in black and white... Though they're still fantastic—"

"Oh, no, no, it's alright, I get that all the time." She cleared her throat. "I'm just color blind, that's all," she added, before immediately moving to a new topic. "So, uh," Alex started to say once she was double-checked that the door was securely closed, "please... sit."

Her two visitors sat on the long, black couch as Alex sat on the adjoining black armchair. Sylar watched his might-be-prey, fiddling with her nervously-shaking hands.

"I'm sorry for being rude, Alex. My name's Claire and this is Sylar."

"Yeah. Hi," Alex said to them, her eyes still on the furry, white rug her feet were on.

"So... what do you, Alex?"

"Um, I'm a college student of Literature and Fine Arts, who lives in a small apartment and paints when she's not studying."

"I meant... your ability. We just... wanted to see how it works."

Alex frowned, as if straining to remember something... "How my ability... works?"

Claire nodded.

Alex thinned her lips, thinking it over and asking herself, _"what __**can**__ she do, exactly?"_ "W-ell..." she finally answered, "I can control the air molecules. And that's basically that."

Sylar raised an eyebrow at her, "Air molecules?"

Alex looked up and nodded. "Yeah. With the air molecules I can... make balls of air on my palm to shoot with or make wings on my back to fly with."

"Hm. Interesting..."

"Don't look into it too much, Sylar," Claire hissed at Sylar, who shrugged.

"So... Is that basically everything you want to know?" Alex asked.

"Yeah, basically," Claire answered. "But it would be much more okay if you could show it to us. Your ability, I mean."

"Um... I don't really like showing my... _skills_ to people," Alex said uneasily.

"Oh, that's okay—"

"But," Alex interjected, rubbing the side of her neck, "if you really _need _to, then alright," then pulled her white off-shoulder top up before standing.

In those brief milliseconds, Claire noticed something and gasped. Both Alex and Sylar looked at her and asked, "What?"

"You're... you're... Your neck," Claire bluntly put.

Alex frowned, then realized what she was saying. "Oh, you mean this?" She placed her long, spider-like fingers on the mark that looked like it had been parallel-stapled twice on the skin between her neck and shoulder.

"Yeah..."

"Oh. Yeah. Um... I, uh..." Alex wasn't sure how much information she could disclose to her strange visitors who were like her.

"What about it?" Sylar asked Claire, who simply whispered, "The Company."

Sylar frowned, processing the information, then his expression changed when comprehension dawned on him. "Oh. I didn't know The Company marked their targets..." he mumbled.

"I'm sorry, but did you just say 'marked their targets?'" Alex asked him, frowning.

"...Um..."

Alex's blue-gray eyes narrowed into slits of suspicion. "Were _you _one of the ones who did this to me?" she whispered harshly.

"NO!" Claire abruptly answered, raising her hands up in defense. "We're not one of... well, _them_."

"Then how did you _find _me?" Alex inquired suspiciously, baiting her.

"...Um... We, uh... er... your... files..." Claire hesitantly answered, not wanting to tell the truth, but not wanting to lie too much either.

"So, you _are _one of them!" Alex accused.

"NO, NO, we're not!"

"Then how come you looked like you _recognized _this marking on my neck?" Alex baited again.

This time, Claire was silent, trying to come up with a believable lie.

"I should've known..." Alex whispered. "I should've known you'd come for me again... And maybe take me away and cage me to wherever it is you keep those you've _marked_."

"Alex, _please_ believe me when I say that _we_," she gestured between her and Sylar, "did _not_ do _that _to you."

"Well, one of your _other _comrades did, then."

"Alex, listen to me—"

"No, _you _listen to _me_!" Alex almost shrieked. "If you think I'm that _gullible_, then you're _wrong_! I will _not _let you take me away!"

"Alex—" Claire tried to persuade her that she and Sylar "came in peace," but she suddenly felt the air thinning in the apartment room. "What—?"

"Save your breath," Alex told her menacingly, forming a ball of air in her open palm, "you're gonna _need _it."

Instinctively, Sylar held his breath and fired up his electricity. Eyeing it, Alex realized that he was going to attack and, following her instincts as well, shot the air-ball she made at him, but not before he could shoot some electric bolts at her. Both of them got hit; he was thrown onto his back on the couch, while she was thrown onto the small black bar that separated the kitchen and the living room.

Once Claire felt the air filling up her lungs, she ran to Sylar's side, saw that he was unconscious from hitting his head on the wall behind the couch, and then looked over at Alex to check if she was okay. Apparently, she was. And she also had wings of air on her back as she ran to the window and took flight. Claire rushed over to the window, but already found Alex disappearing behind the clouds.

"Well, that sucked," Claire muttered. When she heard a low groan behind her, she realized that Sylar was coming to. She went to his side, cupping his cheek with one hand, "Sylar?" He groaned. She sighed in relief, "Oh, thank God."

"I can't _die_, Claire. You know that," Sylar commented.

Claire chuckled, "I know."

"Concerned?" Sylar playfully raised an eyebrow at her, to which he earned a shove on his chest as Claire reprimanded, "Don't get too cocky with me, _Sylar_. I'm only helping you with this Hunger thing and I will _not _submit to your stupid flirtations, so _give it up_."

Sylar chuckled, sitting up on the couch. "You may say that, Claire-bear. _But_," he raised her chin up with his thumb and index finger so that she can look into his eyes, "you _will _want me. Someday."

"Dream on, _Gabriel_." She was surprised at three things all at once: the first was that he had grabbed her wrists in his hand and pushed her onto her back on the floor beside the coffee table, pushing them up above her head; the second was that his lips were hovering above hers; and the third was that her breath was shortening, even though Alex was already gone.

"_You_," Sylar growled, "should _not_ and _will __**not**_ use that with _me_. If you do... I just might rethink our little _future _together, _Claire-bear_."

Trying to get her thoughts away from kissing him and how _good_ he smelled, Claire snarled, "Since when did _you _think that we'd actually have a _future __**together**_, _**SYLAR**_?"

"Since I figured out that I—" he stopped mid-sentence, looking like he was searching for words to try to explain something to her, "—that... Well, since Crash told me that I would _need _you."

"You don't _need _anybody, _Sylar_."

"Well, I guess I do."

"_Why _do you _trust _her!" She almost screamed at his face.

"Why don't _you_?" he shot back.

"Because _one_, she merely seems like some kid who has _nothing to do _and just wants to _annoy _two arch-enemies into _needing _each other, and _two_, she's a _strange_ _kid_!" She was close to losing it at that point. "Why don't you _not _trust her then?"

"Because she has information about my real father! I thought I've already told you that! Turns out you're just like every other blonde cheerleader..." he muttered, sounding like he was disappointed or angry. Then, he sighed. "Why the hell are we fighting, anyway?"

Claire frowned. "I don't know, maybe because you _pushed _me down and put me in a position that looks like you're about to _rape_ me?"

He chuckled. "I'm not a rapist, Claire. And, anyway... why would I want to _rape_ you?" he asked softly, his face getting closer to hers. "I prefer those who are more _willing_..." he disclosed. "And I bet you _like _it when I'm top of you..." he sneered, his dark-brown eyes boring into her green ones.

At first Claire couldn't speak, especially when his lips were just a _teeny tiny_ raise-of-the-head away. And _especially _when his hips started to press on hers. She struggled to control her breathing and to keep her eyes from becoming hooded, because he could see that as an invitation. It took a great effort to keep the moan from getting out from her throat. "Sylar," she whimpered. _Great. __**Now **__you've done it, Claire._

"Yes, Claire?" he asked in a whisper as he kissed the tip of her nose.

She bit back a small smile as she tried to get a coherent sentence out of her mouth from her hormonally-affected thoughts. "_Please_" was all she could get out.

"'Please' what?" He raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes asking the unspoken question, _What do you __**want**__, Claire?_

"Please get off me..."

He smirked, but did as she asked. Once she felt the weight and warmness of his body leave on top of her and saw him straighten, she sat up and accepted his hand to help her stand up. She cleared her throat. "Well, I guess Number Two didn't really go that well..." she said, getting her voice back once her head started to clear, as if nothing awkward just happened.

Sylar chuckled, and played along, "Yeah, I guess not. But, hey, at least we didn't do anything to trash her apartment or anything."

She shrugged, looking over at the kitchen so that he wouldn't be able to see her smiling. "Well, then, how about we go again to—"

"Nuh-uh," Sylar cut in, shaking his head. "No more. I am _not _doing this again."

Claire turned to him with a raised eyebrow and a curious expression on her face, "I thought we were going to continue doing this until that Hunger of yours has stopped... Like what _Crash _said."

He shrugged, "Screw it. I don't need anything to suppress The Hunger anymore."

"So, you're going back to killing other specials for their powers and I'll be going back to trying to live a normal life whilst thinking up ways to get rid of you?" she jested.

She was surprised when he answered "No," and she frowned, "'No'?"

"Yes. I'm not going to 'go back to killing other specials for their powers.'"

"But... But you're _Sylar_."

"Yeah. So?"

"So basically, that means you're the 'big, bad Boogeyman.' 'The serial killer who kills people with abilities.'"

He shrugged again. "Well, I guess I'm just taking a break then."

"Huh. ...That's new."

"Well, a lot's been new lately between you and me."

An uncomfortable silence took place before Sylar asked his earlier question, "Why were we fighting about Crash, anyway? It's not like I'm your boyfriend and she's this girl that I'm flirting with or anything."

Claire sighed. "Well, how should I know? ...Guess we're a bit immature at our age..."

"_You're _immature, you mean, Little Princess," he mumbled, but she heard him.

"Whatever, Sylar," she said, rolling her eyes. "Here," she started rummaging through her bag for her keys, "I'll drop you off at your place."

"No thanks. I'll just walk. Looks like a nice day today."

Claire shrugged. "Okay then. Suit yourself." And they let themselves out of the empty apartment.

_:("):_

"Why the hell are you _doing _this?" Sylar growled at the teenager in a plain white T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, who was in currently in his living room with her hands in her pockets.

He had just woken up from another dream about him and Claire, and immediately hissed Crash's name, causing said teenager to appear in his living room when he got out of his bedroom.

"Doing what?" she asked innocently.

"Don't you _fucking _play dumb with _me_, Crash!"

Crash sighed. "Alright, alright, fine. What do you want?"

"First, I want you to answer two questions."

"Okay, then."

"_Why _are you giving Claire and me these dreams?"

"Let's just say I've got a friend who can paint the future," she answered bluntly.

Sylar contemplated this. "Alright..." he unwillingly considered after a few seconds. "And now the second is... what do you know about my father? My _real _father."

"I know that his name's Samson Gray, he's your adoptive father's, Martin's, brother, and he's a taxidermist in New Jersey. That's basically it. If you want any more information, you have to go to Martin himself. Don't know where he is though," she responded. "Are we done now?"

"Nope. I still have to tell you the second thing I want."

"Alright then, what is it?"

"I want you to _stop _giving us these dreams."

She immediately shrugged, "Fine then."

"_And_... if you've messed with our heads, I want you to remove those as well."

"_What_!" Crash looked at him, horrified, as if he'd just killed her new pet puppy for a laugh. "Are you _seriously __**serious**_!"

"Of course I am," he said coolly.

"I can't do that!"

"Well, why not?"

"Don't you know..." She cleared her throat, "I-I mean... Because I didn't 'mess with your mind,' as you claim..."

"Uh-huh. Riiiight. Human lie-detector, remember?" he reminded, raising an eyebrow at her as the tingling sensation started to fade.

She gulped. "Erm..."

"What did you do, Crash?"

"N-Nothing, really. I just... well..." She looked at her black-and-red Nike sneakers.

"_Look at me_," he ordered, forcing her to look up at him in surprise. "And tell me _what_... you did... to me and Claire."

"W-ell... I just... y'know, it's really just nothing, really—quite irrelevant—you wouldn't even know that I did anything and—" Losing his patience, he ended her ramble with a sharp call of her name, "_Crash_!" causing her to flinch and fess up, turning multiple words into one, "I-made-you-two-think-that-you-were-in-love-with-each-other."

"You did _what_!" Now, _he _looked horrified.

"What?" she asked, raising both her shoulders and her hands, palms facing the ceiling, in a "what's wrong with that?" gesture.

He sighed and sank into an armchair nearby, covering his tired face with a hand. "_God_, Crash..." he mumbled. "_Why _are you _doing _this?"

Crash was silent, but was forced to respond when he screamed "_Why_!", "Because of a painting my precog friend made," she simply answered.

"Would you _kindly _be a little more specific?" he asked, glaring at her, his hand wearily running through his dark locks.

"I can't tell you. I swore that I wouldn't."

"Well, then, can you give a little more _detail _to this painting then?"

"All I can tell you is that it's about you and Claire."

"So, it's because of that painting that you're doing this?"

"Yep."

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling, contemplating this new set of information before stating, "Remove it."

She frowned. "Remove what?"

"The thing you put in our heads to make us think that we're in love with each other!" Sylar snapped, irritated, glaring at her.

"What! _No_!" She looked horrified again.

"Well, _why not_?"

"You don't know how _hard _it is to hack into that frick'n _brain _of yours! It's like a supercomputer! And I'm not that good of a hacker, okay?" she babbled. He raised an eyebrow at her, making her sigh and elaborate, "It was easy to get into Claire's head, since she was asleep, but _you_? Nuh-uh. _You're_ like a frick'n dog/bat when you're asleep! Because even when you're dead to the world, you're brain's still alert and all that! Jeez! I had to shove a dream into that head of yours to be able to get through!"

"So?"

She scoffed in astonishment, eyes wide. "_So_, I am _not _going to take back what took a _lot _of mental work for me to put _in _there!"

"Seriously, I'm amazed that you were able to '_hack_' into my cerebral system, but _seriously_. _Remove it_," he firmly ordered with a menacing glare.

"_No_," she stubbornly refused, crossing her arms in defiance.

"Do I have to _make _you?" he threatened.

"Even if you get my ability, you _still _won't be able to get it out, because you can't use it on yourself, smarty."

His eyes narrowed menacingly. "Fine, then. I could just kill you right now, problem one solved. And _then_, I could get someone with the same ability as yours to do it, problem two solved. All done," he smirked.

Amazed that he would actually kill her, she gave in, "Okay, okay! I'll do it, I'll do it!" He gave a triumphant smirk. "_But_," she added, "you have to _promise _me that you won't kill again."

"_WHAT_!" he shrieked, abruptly standing up, his expression saying '_you have __**got **__to be fucking with me_.'

"I'm serious. If you don't stop killing, something _terrible _will happen."

"What _sort _of '_terrible_' thing?"

"Let's just say that _that's _what the painting was." He raised an eyebrow at her, and she elaborated once more, "Look, I'm not going to say anything more except that it's _something _that has to do with you and Claire, and killing. Okay? Got it? ¿_Comprender_?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Now _do it_."

She sighed, "Fine," and went to work. It only took a few seconds of silence and concentration, but she was able to get the job done.

Expelling a deep breath of weariness, she asked, "You feel any different?"

"Yeah," he answered, noticing that any thoughts about _anything _with Claire had disappeared from his conscious thoughts.

"Good. Now I'll just go off to Claire's and do my job," she said.

"I'll come with." When she raised an eyebrow at him, he explained, "Just to make _sure _that you _will _do your job."

She shrugged. "Alrighty, then. C'mon out."

When he frowned in confusion, he awoke with a start and found himself sitting up in bed. He frowned and looked around, finding Crash at his bedroom doorway.

"Well, come on now, I need to get some sleep _too_, y'know," she said, heading towards his bedroom window, which she unlatched and opened to its widest. Once Sylar got out of bed, she jumped out of the window and grabbed onto the drain pipe a few feet away to prevent herself from falling six stories down. When Sylar got out and saw her climbing down, he jumped out and used his telekinesis to soften his landing. As soon as they were safely on the ground, they started to run the twenty blocks to Claire's house.

_:("):_

Climbing up trees had never been a pastime of Sylar's, since Virginia drilled it into his head that "_special boys aren't monkeys._" But now that he was a man, Sylar felt that climbing up a tree to "spy" on an unknowing, most-probably-still-underage ex-cheerleader was very stalker-like and just slightly perverted.

Okay, maybe not slightly.

But anyway, he had a reason, and that was to see to it that Crash will most _definitely _clean up her mess.

"Oh good Lord," the aforementioned, annoying teenager muttered once she looked through Claire's bedroom window.

Sylar frowned, "What?" and sat on the sturdy branch she was currently squatting on.

"It's 9 in the evening!" she whispered in a hiss.

With that, Sylar's frown deepened and, being even more irritated by the already-irritating teenage girl, he slid up behind her to grab her nape and snarl, "Look, whatever it is, just get on with it, alright?"

She gave him a withering look. "Look, if you want to know what it is I'm so freaked out-slash-stressed out, why don't you have a look yourself? And _let go of me_, would ya?" she hissed, annoyed, prying his hand off the back of her neck.

Rolling his eyes, Sylar took a peek at Claire's bedroom window to see what it was that was "freaking out/stressing out" the black-haired teenager.

What he saw made his eyes widen and left him breathless.

_:("):_

_Aaaaaand... That's it. Sorry for the slight cliffhanger there. But, hey, __**MORE THAN HALF OF THIS WAS **__**SO**__** NOT IN THE PLAN! **__I was just on a __**roll **__when I typed more than half of this chapter, alright? Anyways, I know that this chapter is much, much shorter than the previous one, and is basically less awesome, but hey, you can't have everything. Oh, and uh, the next chapter would be up either sometime before June 8, or sometime late October if I can't make it on June, or sometime late March/early April if I can't make October either. So anyway, this is the part where I __**BEG**__ you to click this little button down here that has the word "Review" on it. So _**PLEEEEEEEASE **_click it and leave me a review! Like it? Then tell me what you think! Hate it? Then tell me why! I appreciate constructive criticism, but no flames please. Okay, rant over now._


	9. Dispute

_**WARNING: You will now know why I rated this "M." If you don't like sex, references to sex, sexual innuendos, and the like, please stop reading and save your innocence/ignorance. Thank you.**_

_Okay, see, this was supposed to be posted __**yesterday**__, but I had doubts and author's block after _"Like last time?" _and only had the ideas to end this chapter before I went to sleep. And yeah, I said that this would be up by October but that was __**before **__I found out that my new school doesn't have Spring Break _(FML.) _and __**before **__I found out that we have no class from September 22 (which is the date of our town fiesta) to 23 (which is, obviously, the date of the day __**after **__our town fiesta, so yeah)._

_Btw! Lots of thanks and cyber hugs to_megumisakura, yunadustrial(dot)twifan , Anon, OneofJennifer, _and_ Bookfaery03 _for reviewing! _:D

_Roll chapter 9! Read and Review please! _:D

_:("):_

Never in his life has Sylar ever witnessed something like what he saw in Claire's bedroom window that night. Okay, so, tree-climbing _can _be considered as very perverted, fine, but hey, he didn't _intend _to! He never would've _known _that Claire was going to be like _that _when he got there! And by _that_, it would be her in a _**tiny **_white towel covering her from the top of her breasts, showing a generous amount of cleavage, to just a little below her hips.

_Oh, holy "__**Shit**_," he mumbled to himself.

"Quiet!" Crash hissed, focusing her eyes on the Bennet girl who was currently blow-drying her hair. "I'm trynna _work_ here!"

"What?" he asked, turning to her and remembering how to breathe.

"I said '_quiet_.' Okay? Get it? Got it? Now _shut up_!" she hissed, before closing her eyes and probing Claire's mind. It was like going through a file cabinet with numerous, irrelevant documents being thrown in your face. _God, minds are so unorganized, _Crash complained.

Sylar rolled his eyes, mumbling, "Yeah, sure, I'll shut up and you do your mind thing."

Crash ignored his unintelligible comment and kept rifling through Claire's head. Aforementioned older girl had just finished blow-drying and was currently suspiciously looking around her room, feeling the unwelcome mental invasion. A blushing Sylar, on the other hand, was forcing himself to look at the moon above through the leaves of the tree as if it were much more amazing than the sight that could be seen through the closed four-paned window.

"Gotcha!" Crash victoriously declared under her breath, eyes still closed, when she found the thoughts she had planted into the blonde's head.

Upon her declaration, Sylar looked over at the young annoyance and whispered, "Well, are you done?"

"_Shut up_! I only _found _it, okay? Now I need to concentrate to be able to extract-slash-remove-slash-kill it properly," the teen answered without opening her eyes or turning towards him.

"What happens if you _don't _extract or remove or kill it properly?" Sylar asked curiously.

"Then that thought would become an actively predominant part of her consciousness instead of just a nagging thought on the surface of her subconscious," Crash deadpanned.

Sylar blinked at the latest information, then mumbled "Fine" under his breath, and glanced up at the blonde through the window.

This time, she was bending down to sort through some clothes at the back of her closet. The position showed him a little more skin that the tiny towel had to offer him from below. Sylar tried to avert his eyes when he felt his blood rushing to his cheeks and his groin, but he couldn't. Wouldn't. He was... _entranced_.

His eyes roved from her ass up to her hips, where he pictured his hands were gripping her, then to her thighs and short, flawless legs, where he depicted he was kneeling in between with an erection against her butt. His eyes wandered up to her bent back, where he mentally conceived he was trailing kisses towards her neck—which was where his eyes went towards next—and then whisper in her ear if she was ready. He imagined her nodding as she lay on his bed, her breasts—which were in reality, hidden in the tiny, white cotton towel—pressing against his comforter, her hands gripping the sheets, her ass up in the air, legs spread apart, and knees resting on the wrinkled blankets, her wetness dripping down onto the covers as she readied herself for his entrance. In his mental fantasy, he saw himself push inside her, thrusting in and out in a fast, rhythmic pace as she screamed his name in ecstasy with every plunge.

"_Oh shit_!" he mumbled again under his breath when he felt his manhood rise up in approval of his recent flight of imagination. Well... His _only _one of her.

So far.

He hastily pulled the hem of his black undershirt over his erection when he heard Crash expel a deep breath of exhaustion and say, "Done. _Finally_," before turning towards him to relay the news, "Okay, it's done. You happy?" That's when she noticed his undershirt straining to cover up his erectile manhood. She blinked, expression impassive, and deadpanned, "Well. It looks like you are," before looking up at his face, eyes twinkling in amusement, "Guess my work here's done. Good luck, Sylar." She deliberately slid backwards on the branch, which she hung on to, and swayed towards the trunk, causing the leaves to rustle slightly. Once she let go of the branch and flew towards the tree trunk, which she clutched on to before climbing the rest of the way down and speeding away, the branch hit another branch above it, causing a sort of domino effect of smacking branches and rustling leaves.

Sylar cursed Crash under his breath for making such a ruckus that caused Claire to whip her head towards the tree he was still in.

And he _still_ hadn't calmed down!

Claire, who had already ditched the towel and was wearing a skimpy night shirt and panties, strode towards the window, which she unlocked and pushed upwards to open, and ducked her head under it to scrutinize the tree.

Sylar had slowly moved his way towards the crook of the branch and the trunk, where the shadows were darker, and had the side of his head pressed against the tree trunk, sitting still and waiting for her to go back inside while he tried to ease his manhood with non-erotic mental pictures.

When he risked a peek at the ex-cheerleader's open window, he noticed that she was still surveying the tree, her eyes squinting at the trees shadows as if she would suddenly have night vision if she concentrated hard enough. He also noticed that her nipples had asserted themselves on her skimpy tee due to the cold night air.

He looked away, trying to erase the fresh new pictures of an almost-naked, half-naked, and butt-naked Claire with the innovative fantasies he thought up almost all of a sudden and out-of-the-blue from his head.

_This girl's going to be the death of me._

Nevertheless, this was a _good_ night.

Sort of.

_:("):_

Claire was about to close her window, when she noted a slight movement in the shadows of the tree. Her eyes snapped back to it, watching intently and waiting for another movement.

A few seconds later and there was still none.

She shrugged, thinking it was just the moonlight playing tricks on her.

But, no—she saw the shadows moving again. This time, her eyes bored onto the silhouette of what looked like a man who was readying himself to leap from the tree.

She only knew of _one_man who would be up in that certain tree late at night.

"Sylar," she hissed accusingly at the shadow, which instantly stiffened upon hearing its name. She poked her head out and whispered harshly, "What the _fuck _are you _doing here_!"

She watched him squatting hesitantly on the tree branch, unsure of what his next move should be.

She wondered what he would do as well, but she knew that he would face her with that cocky demeanor of his, a smirk firmly planted on his face.

He slowly straightened up on the branch, maintaining balance with some help from his telekinetic powers, before turning towards her and walking down the branch. She kept her eyes locked on his, giving him a non-verbal message of just how _confused _and _appalled_ she was at his being there.

He went down on one knee when he was in the boundary between the shadows and the moonlight on the branch, half of him still hidden, as if he was afraid of getting near her or something.

It's not like she's _scary _or _threatening_ or anything! If anyone should be scared, it should be _her_!

"Look, Claire, I don't want you to misinterpret this for anything, okay? Because I'm only here, sine _Crash _was here, and I had to make sure that—"

"Crash?" she repeated, slightly unsurprised and just a little pissed. "Oh, so it's about _her_ again, huh? Like what the _hell_! You're doing what she tells you to do like you're her robot! And _now _you're following her around like a lost puppy? I'm starting to think you're some gentlemanly pedophile who only takes advantage of kids when they give you permission!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Maybe you are... Well, this is a new low, even for _you_, Sylar—a serial killer and a stalker; now, a _pedophile_, _**too**_?" she demanded, staring daggers at him.

The accusation hit him so hard that he fell back onto the branch, almost losing his mentally-maintained balance on it. _How could she think that? And I'm not some "lost puppy following her around!" Good __**God**__, she must be losing it!_ Then, another thought hit him. _Or maybe..._"Claire..." he started to say, "you're not..." He paused, rolling the word over in his head to savor it before verbalizing it, "_jealous_, are you?" The corner of lip slightly curled upward into a small amused smile, head tilted slightly to the side in curiosity.

Claire looked more surprised than he was at the thought—so much that she took an involuntary step back. Once she remembered how to think and process again, she spat out, "_Jealous_? _Me_? Get _real_, Sylar!"

Sylar chuckled darkly. "Oh, I am. I'm pretty surprised myself, Claire-bear, but it looks pretty obvious." He flashed her a wickedly smug grin.

She just glared spitefully at him. "Whatever, Sylar. I don't care what it looks like to _you_!" she told him with a roll of her eyes before turning around. She was about to walk away when she remembered something and spun back around to face him with a skeptical and searching look, "What _are _you doing here?"

"That's what I was trying to _tell you_ before you so _rudely __**interrupted**_ me," he told her almost offhandedly.

She glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest. "Alright, fine, _I'm sorry_, okay? _Now_ can you tell me?"

He smirked. "Of course." He fell onto his butt and sat cross-legged on the branch, not losing his concentration on his telekinetically-assisted balance, and then explained, "You see, Claire-bear, I... _summoned_ Crash to my apartment earlier. I made her swear that she will quit toying with us, and stop giving us those dreams. She agreed. I also made her swear to remove whatever thoughts she had implanted in our heads, if there are any. She was horrified and absolutely _refused_, but after some... _bribery_, I got her to do it. After she removed those thoughts from my head, she went over here to remove them from yours. I only tagged along to see to it that she succeeds in her task." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Feel any different, Claire-bear?"

She blushed and said, "Well, I _did_notice something different in my thought process." _The lack of __**you**_.

He smirked, "Good," then stood, "I guess my work here is done." He nodded at her, "See you, Claire-bear."

She blinked, "Wait, wait, wait, wait," she rushed, holding her hands out and causing him to stop from jumping off the branch. He raised an eyebrow at her and waited for her to continue. "That's it?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"That's all you came here for? _Seriously_?" She was frowning as well.

He crouched back down and looked her in the eyes, "Did you expect anything... _else_?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, a twinkle in his eyes, and a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

She ignored the heat rising in her face and shot him a glare, "Shut up, Sylar. I'm just _saying _that it's _weird _for you to come here for no other reason than to _check on me_."

"Like last time?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like last time. Only _that time_, you were being _forced _to do it by Crash's mind-control thing. _This time_ though, you did it out of your own will." She leaned forward, pressing her hands on the window sill. "What's up with _that_?"

He glared at her in exasperation. "I told you, I just wanted to make sure that Crash did her thing and did it successfully. I wanted her _out_ of my life—of _our _lives—and for that to come true, she had to erase those thoughts from your head. She's gone now, so we can _both __**finally **_get a good night's sleep. Alright?"

"Why did you want her to leave?"

That question took him by surprise. "_What_?" he asked irritably.

"You _trusted_ her, Sylar. You almost _worshiped _her, even. What changed?" _It just doesn't add up._

"She gave me another dream and I was sick of waking up from them. For once, I want to sleep without the anticipation of another _frustrating _dream getting shoved in my head. Don't _you_want that, Claire?" Any more of this and he'll be completely pissed.

"Of _course_ I do!"

"_Then why do you keep asking these questions when you already have the answers?_" he hissed.

"_Because I want to know what __**you **__think, alright?_" she snapped.

"Well, you know now!"

"Yeah, I guess I do!"

"Good!"

"Fine!"

"I'm outta here!"

"Get lost!"

He jumped off the branch and strode off in frustration, wanting to keep as much distance from her as possible.

_Well that ended quite well,_she mused sarcastically, still fuming.

She didn't know why she was so _angry_. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. _It's all Crash's fault, _she told herself. _If she hadn't given us these dreams in the first place, I would still be trying to have a normal life or trying to kill that __**bastard **__or both._

She looked at her hands and groaned, rolling her eyes. Why had she been given such a passive power? She wanted to kill the young meddler herself. Balling her hands into fists at her sides, thoughts of ways to kill the girl ran through her mind. Then she forced them to a halt—_No, _she told herself firmly. Killing just wasn't her thing. _Sylar. Maybe he could—No. _She remembered that he was pissed at her and she was supposed to be pissed at him, so he wouldn't do her a favor. And anyway, she wouldn't really want anyone killed because of her.

She pushed the murderous thoughts aside and, sighing, slipped on a pair of shorts (realizing just then that she had been bickering with Sylar in her underwear; she blushed at the thought) and climbed into bed, awaiting a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

_:("):_

_Meanwhile, at Sylar's apartment..._

Sylar mentally shoved the door to his apartment open, too infuriated to use the door knob, and forcefully slamming it close with a 45-degree kick.

He tried to regain control his breathing, so, closing his eyes, he mentally counted off in thousands. _One-one-thousand... two-one-thousand... three-one-thousand... four-one-thousand..._

Soon enough, when he had somewhat calmed down, he opened his eyes and thought, _That girl is most __**definitely **__going to be the death of me._

He sighed and rubbed his tired face with a hand. He had to take some time away from her... Some time to cool off... He needed to put some distance between them... Needed to organize his thoughts... Needed to—_Wait a minute._

He lifted his head up from his hand and stared at the armchair he'd sat on earlier when he'd been talking with Crash.

Crash had given him information, a lead if you may, on how he can locate his biological father.

_Martin. _He had to find Martin. And that means going back to Queens, where he'd sworn he'd never look back to. And going to Queens means flying.

He consulted his internal clock that said it was past nine, confirmed it with his wall clock, and picked up the phone to book a flight to New York by tomorrow. After the call, he'll finally get some sleep, he mused with a small sleepy smile of relief.

_:("):_

_The next day, Sunday..._

When he was still a kid, Virginia had trained him to go to church every Sunday. This particular Sunday however, he was in a bus going to the airport. Virginia—if the bitch was still alive—would've dragged him out by the ear and forced him into the nearest church and then let him board another bus after mass.

But that was in his Gabriel years. He was Sylar now, and Sylar didn't take orders from anyone but himself.

_Except Crash, _he thought to himself. _But she had information about my real father, so it was a must._He sighed and rid himself of any thoughts of the aggravating teenager.

Sylar stared listlessly out his window from the back of the bus, arm propped on the top of his suitcase beside him and cheek balanced on a limp hand, his mind reeling questions about his real father.

_God, is this what Claire felt like before she met Meredith and Nathan? _he pondered, brown eyes unseeing the landscape and buildings outside the travelling vehicle.

Just then, his phone rang, startling him out of his trance.

He took the device out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. It was Claire. _Speak of the devil. _He frowned, _But why is she calling?_

Curious, he answered silently on the fifth ring.

"Sylar?" her hesitant voice came from the other end.

"Yes?" he'd successfully sounded casual and apathetic.

"Oh. Um. Hi. Uh..."

"What is it, Claire?"

He heard her sigh. "Look, I'm... sorry for... I'm sorry about last night."

"What about it?"

"I just... I'm just _sorry_, alright? Now can we _please_ make up and not be pissed with each other?"

"I thought you hate me?"

"I do."

"Then why would you care if I'm pissed at you?"

"'Cause I wouldn't want us to send off any angry vibes or anything when we visit the third Special."

"What third Special?"

"The third Special we're going to visit so that you can learn to control your Hunger thing."

"I told you, I'm not doing that again. No more visits."

"...Oh-kay... So, maybe we could just—"

"Claire, I think you misunderstood me. I'm not going to go visit another Special to see their ability and try to temper the Hunger."

"I didn't misunderstand you, Sylar. All I'm saying is that I can't let a Hungry serial killer out loose in the world."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'm not going to go around killing people. Like I said, I'm taking a break."

"You were serious about that?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, Claire, I was," he answered with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh. Well. This... This break thing... It includes _what _exactly? Reading books about brains and the many dishes you could make with them?"

"I've already told you: _I don't __**eat **__brains. _That's _disgusting_. _God_," he mumbled, rubbing his face with his free hand. "And _'this break thing'_ of mine includes me going to New York for some personal matters, so you don't have to worry about me like I'm your _pet _or anything."

"First off, I never said you were my '_pet _or anything,' _Sylar_. And secondly, _**what **__personal matters_ in _New York_?" she hissed suspiciously.

"Don't you understand what the word _personal _means? Because if you don't, it _means _that it doesn't concern _you _or _anyone else_." He paused in thought, then added, "And don't worry, I'm not going to New York to kill your _beloved_ Uncle Peter."

"Who're you gonna kill then? Some other oblivious Special?"

"Do I have to define the word _break _for you too?" He tried to keep his emotions in check.

"No. I know perfectly well what it means, Sylar. I'm just _making sure_, alright?"

"I'm not your responsibility, Claire-bear."

"Yeah, well, I _feel_ responsible for you ever since I started helping you out," she grumbled.

"Then don't be," he rebuked. "I can take of myself, Claire."

"But can you control _It_?"

"I'm not going to go off killing people!" he growled.

"Then _what _are you going to _do _in _New York_?" she insisted.

She had successfully gotten him to spill it, he knew it, and he cursed her for it. "I'm going to try and find out where my adoptive father is so he can tell me where my _real _father is. Alright? Happy?"

"...Yeah, okay."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Are you done?"

"Yeah."

"Good. ...Are you going to hang up now?"

"No."

"Why not?" he growled.

"I think I like pissing you off. You love to annoy me, so I'm just 'doing unto others.'"

"Good_bye_, Claire," he firmly bade.

"Awww, he's pissed at me again," she faux-complained in a cutesy voice.

"Your loss, Cheerleader," he told her.

"Awww, he's losing it." He swore he heard her hide a giggle.

"When I get back, the first thing I'm going to do is get in your room and finish you off," he threatened.

"Ooooh, sounds dirty," she playfully quipped.

"It's not."

"But it _sounds _like it."

"Can we drop this?"

"Tired of me already?"

"Claire, are you seriously flirting with me?"

Silence on the other end.

"I wasn't... That wasn't... I didn't..." she stammered.

He smirked. "Oh, Claire," he drawled out, chuckling under his breath.

"Do you know just how _sexy _that sounded?" she asked in a very sexy voice.

_Wait, __**what**__?_

He swore he felt his "river of thoughts" jolt to a stop when her words had finally registered.

"_What_?" He was flummoxed.

Her rich laughter came through the device.

"If I could take a picture of your face right now, I _would_! I'm sure your expression is _priceless_!" More laughter.

He growled, "_Goodbye_, Claire."

"Ooooh, he's _pissed_," she said in her sexy—_What the hell?_—voice again.

She was laughing again when he hung up on her.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose once more. _I could really use some more sleep._

_:("):_

_It ended there because I didn't how to end this chapter, so there._

_Right, uh, some disclaimers: (1) the counting in thousands thing? Yeah, I got that from _JaimiePrufrock_'s fic _How to Save a Life_, and (2) I got the "_arm propped on the top of his suitcase beside him and cheek balanced on a limp hand," _from _Wishful Thinking _by _Oponn_, but I slightly edited it. If you haven't read either fic yet, READ IT ASAP!_

_But leave me a review first, please? It'll only take a few moments to click this little button labeled _Review this Chapter _and tell me what you think! Lots of cyber hugs and air cookies to anyone who reviews! _:D


	10. What Is This Feeling?

_**WARNING: This is rated "M" for a reason. If you don't like sex, sexual references, sexual innuendos, and the like, please stop reading and save your eyes. Thank you.**_

_Many thanks to the very awesome George who was kind enough to answer a few rather personal questions to help me clear up which scene I should put in here in the first part. So if – emphasis on __**if**__ – any of you guys are celebrating 'cause there's another chapter up, go thank George. Oh, and the plot bunnies as well. The nasty little buggers kept me up when I finally acknowledged their presence, and, well, I learned that one should not chase the plot bunnies (especially with a knife up one's sleeve) because the plot bunnies don't like being chased. I'm new to the plot bunny thing, don't sue me. But thank them too anyways! Mmkay? _:)

_Lots of cyber hugs and air cookies (as promised) to _Melissa, Joise, reina13, 96RosePetals,Purple Lex, _and _MaXxie_ for reviewing! _:D_ And here's some Kleenex for _MaXxie_, too. Don't cry, dearie. _:) _I'm flattered, but it ain't the end of the world yet. _X) _I do hope you and all you lurkers out there have been thoroughly distracted by the fanfics I've given you guys from the last chapter. If not, then damn, I need a new tactic..._

_And before any of you guys complain that this thing is taking so freakin' long to update, well then, I'm sorry okay? But I'm a student and, yes, it's summer, but my mom __**insisted**__ that I review the whole two months of it for the entrance exam of a very prestigious college, which will take place on August. Fuck my life; it sucks. I've said that numerous times, usually separately but whatever. You get me, right? But if __**that**__ ain't enough reason for y'all, well, then, I'm sorry to inform you, but... I have just recently gotten a new obsession... (I had been – yep, __**had**__ – obsessing over Sylar/Claire for three years now. A record, really, in my standards.) It's Jim Henson and co.'s __**The Labyrinth**__ and __I have to say that the bloody Goblin King is freakin' never mind (Underlined because I can't make a Strikethrough. Meh.). Let's just say that a certain Goblin King got into my dreams two weeks ago (probably 'cause the hilarious but very **traumatizing** image of stripper!Hoggle – don't ask; but if you're curious, just ask, and I'll link you to the Labyfic – flashed through my mind's eye before I went to sleep... I think J was curious (and probably suspicious) as to **why** I'd visualized Hoggle like that and not His Nibs himself)__ and I'm trying to be careful what I say or think about him now. 'Kay? 'Kay._

_**ROLL CHAPTER BEFORE ANYONE DECIDES TO SHOOT ME FOR RAMBLING!**_

_:("):_

"You like that?" she whispered sultrily in his ear, legs straddled around his hips, feet wrapped securely around the legs of the wooden chair he was sitting on, and one hand pressing against his hip while the other rubbed his prominence through his jeans.

He let out a throaty groan and clutched her hips tighter. She smirked.

"Claire—" he tried to say, but got cut off when she gave his balls a firm squeeze, "_shit_!" The action made him shudder as he clutched tighter onto the sides of the wooden chair.

"Shhh," she murmured, raising her head to lock eyes with him, carefully withdrawing her hands from his body to grab his own hands and guide them up to grip her hips. "Save it, Sylar," she told him in a low voice and gyrated her hips against his. "We'll talk more later," she promised and kissed him gently.

Groaning once more, he took her bottom lip in his mouth and sucked on it as he moved in time with her gradually increasing pace.

His breath was quickly coming out in rushed gasps as involuntary electrical pulses escaped his fingertips and the friction of their jeans rubbing against each other was just a little too much to keep himself from completely losing it.

"Oh! Oh God! Oh God I'm—" her next words were drowned in a throaty moan.

"C'mon, baby, come for me, Claire, come for me," he whispered softly onto the skin on her throat where he left small fluttering kisses on as they gained speed.

"Oh my God—_Sylar_!" The sound of his name escaping her lips as she came, her sweet nectar dripping through her panties, reverberated in his ears just as sweet release overcame his body with shudders, a triumphant smile of absolute bliss etched on his face. He couldn't believe it, but the stark reality was screaming at his face so loudly that all the earlier anxiety and incredulity were completely wiped off his mind. _She was finally his._

_:("):_

Sylar woke with a start. For a moment he was confused as to why there was tearing wallpaper in front of him when his apartment was very well-kept. Then he remembered—_Oh right. Motel. The Campbells' car. And that kid, Luke. _He frowned. _Luke._ Looking over his shoulder, he confirmed that he was indeed with that annoying teenager who just _wouldn't _stop fucking talking in his waking moments. Aforementioned teenager was currently snoring his head off, sound asleep, to which Sylar found great relief from.

Sylar sighed and rolled onto his back as he rubbed a hand over his face. That was the first time he dreamt about Claire that way. _And to think that she'd only called with that fucking sexy voice a couple of days ago, _he mused with small smirk.

God, he _definitely _needed this little "road trip to answers." He looked over at the stain his spilled seed had made on the dirty white bed sheets and wondered what in the hell had come over that Bennet girl that suddenly made her so fucking _sexy_.

_:("):_

Claire stared out the window with a bored expression. The teacher was droning on about something that reached her ears as distant mumbles, the chatter of the other students who weren't listening faded into white noise, and the whole classroom disappear around her as all she could focus on was her own thoughts.

Sylar hadn't called her in two days...

If he was her boyfriend, she'd either be freaking out or spamming his voice mail with either worried calls or angry rants. But he wasn't, so, really, why would she care if he hadn't called her? It's not like they're friends or anything...

_But you apologized to him. Wouldn't that count as friendship? Or at least a step towards it? _a tiny voice in her head asked her, but this wasn't Crash's voice—far from it—it sounded more like her own... But different... Probably because it sounded so _wistful_...

_No, it doesn't count,_ Claire told it spitefully._ I apologized 'cause I didn't want any tense energy between us if we'd went to the next Special's house._

_But wasn't that just a last-minute excuse?_

Claire paused at this. It was right, she thought grimly. She _had _thought of it at the last minute just because she didn't particularly know _why_ she'd wanted to apologize... But she'll be damned before she thinks she had any _feelings _for the guy.

_So what? I didn't even know why I wanted to in the first place!_

_You did. You just didn't want to admit it, _the wistful voice said, very matter-of-factly.

She frowned. _What's there to not admit?_

_You couldn't bear the thought that he was angry with you._

_So? There aren't any hidden meanings to that!_

Her mental conversation was cut off when she heard a very loud _SLAM! _nearby. _Very near. _She looked up, startled, and saw that the teacher had slammed his book down on her desk.

"Miss Bennet, would you _please _pay attention?"

She was about to retort that she wasn't the _only _one who wasn't paying attention, but then saw that the other students who hadn't been listening were innocently sitting upright in their seats and staring at the board. A few girls at the front snickered.

Claire scowled, then averted her eyes to the board. "Yes, sir," she said glumly.

He went back to the front of the class, book open in his hand, blabbering about dead guys and whatnot, but Claire wasn't listening and didn't particularly care what those guys had done to deserve to be in a history book. She was trying _not _to think about Sylar, and so far, she was failing.

_:("):_

"_Gabriel," he heard a rough voice call. He looked up from his failing attempts and saw his father approach him. He hesitantly got down from the seat and cautiously walked over to him. He didn't want to, but he had to; he knew the consequences of not coming when he was being called by his father. He felt his father's big, strong hand on his back as the older man half-pushed him towards a table where a couple were sitting at. He stood in front of the woman, who smiled down at him, and saw his father talk with the man out of his earshot._

_His attention on the two men was diverted back to the woman still seated at the table, when she stroked his hair. He looked up at her and saw her smiling. He ran her hand over his finely-combed hair and cupped his face, smiling like he was merely an object of purchase she would very much like to own, cherish, and care for – or, from what looked like a crazed look in her eyes, lock up tight and keep away from anything she deemed would harm or tarnish him. In fact, it looked like that was _exactly _what he was – a mere object with a price tag. To all of them. He saw out of the corner of his eye, the exchange of money at the far end of the diner._

_His big, brown eyes had confusion written all of them. Why was he here with the couple? Why was Father leaving the diner with the money and not with him? Surely, he must have forgotten he was there... But then, he had always been cruel and relentless to him... Maybe he was finally free of his father? He was half-scared at thought, but found himself to be quite relieved... Finally, no more nights of wet pillows or sheets... No more nights of waiting in fear or feigning sleep just so he wouldn't be beaten again... No more days of curling up in a corner of the living room, hoping he wouldn't be seen, as he shouted and hurt his mother..._

_He blinked. His mother. He couldn't just leave her with that... _Monster, _he thought, but quickly replaced it with _Man_, terrified that his father might hear somehow... He slipped out of the unknown woman's touch and ran after his father. He had to get to his mother, had to tell her they could go with the strange couple, where they could finally be free of his father._

_But when he got to the parking lot, he stopped. And stared._

_Their car—his __**father's**__ car—was nowhere to be seen. But that wasn't what made him halt. It was... Blood._

_**Blood.**_

_There was so much blood..._

_It ran thickly down her face that he couldn't identify any of her comforting features anymore..._

"_Mommy!" he cried out._

_He felt himself running towards her..._

_She was alive... This was just another one of their little games... He was the cowboy and she was the Indian he had defeated... Only this time, he wanted inside his fort when he'd struck her down... She would wake up from her feigned unconsciousness soon... The thick tomato sauce was such a nice addition, he thought. He would compliment her creativity once she was sitting up and smiling and laughing again. If he could just reach her and shout out a victorious cry, she'd open her eyes and laugh mockingly at him. Then she'd embrace him, tackling him onto the floor, and tickle his sides till he admitted defeated... Then she'd lift him up in her arms, tell her she loves him, and they'd have milk and cookies together just before his father gets home... Like always. He just had to reach her..._

_He felt strong hands grip his middle and lift him up... And carry him away from her... NO! he wanted to shout, but he knew not to raise his voice when hands with such strength were on him. Nonetheless, he had to get to her, had to give her the signal that play time was over, that father was home and that they had to clean up the mess they'd made before he'd get angry and hit her again._

_He struggled against the hands, knowing the consequences but not caring that he would get a good beating after this. He had to get to her... The hands tightened their grip on him, scolding him for trying to break free of their grasp. He felt himself wince. He was pretty sure new blooms of blue and dark violet would sprout from his sides and stomach when he checked tonight... But he didn't stop. He was determined to get to her... No matter what..._

_He felt himself being pushed roughly inside the backseat of a car by those unrelenting hands. He heard a slam. Another slam. A revving sound of a car engine being turned on. A screech of rubber tires against hard pavement as the vehicle sped out onto the street. A slam of a small body forcefully pushed against strong glass. The pounding of small fists against said glass. The barely heard plop of tears hitting the leather backseat. A desperate cry repeating one word over and over._

_Mommy._

_:("):_

Sylar sat up, a scream dying in his throat as tears flows freely down his face. He had remembered what had happened that day and it was coming back to haunt him. He angrily wiped the tears away.

He needed a drink.

_:("):_

"And then he was _gaping _at me. Like, seriously, the _nerve_ of the guy! Just because he's, like, the new star quarterback and all that, he feels like he's the king of the world or something," Eve said with a roll of her eyes. "But, y'know, I never should have agreed to be his girlfriend anyways. I mean, I _thought_ he actually _liked_ me, but now that I know that he only wanted a higher position in the Popularity Scale because my dad is rich, it just... It hurts, you know?" She turned to the short blonde beside her with sadness in her icy-blue eyes.

Claire nodded at the redhead. "Yeah. I may not know _exactly_, but I can tell how _much_ it hurts." She placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder when the taller girl hung her head in dejection. "Don't worry, Eve, I'm _sure_ that when college comes around you'll find a decent guy who doesn't care whether your dad is the CEO of some company or not."

The redhead sighed and muttered, "I hope so," then downed her drink in one gulp. She set the shot glass down and gestured to the bartender to refill it. "Well," she said with renewed vigor as she straightened, "we shouldn't be talking about anything like that anyway."

"Like what?" Claire raised an eyebrow at her.

"Sad stuff," Eve said with a dismissing gesture of her hand. "It's my cousin's 18th birthday, so we should be, like, _happy_ and all that."

The blonde chuckled and downed her shot, then signaled the bartender for a refill as she said with a smile, "Well, the drinks _are_ being paid for by someone else..."

"Don't mention it." Eve made the dismissing gesture again. "I'm charging it on Dad's credit card anyway," she smirked.

"You know that your dad's gonna _flip_ when he finds out, right?"

"Oh, I know," she shrugged with a smile, then snickered, "but he loves his one and only daughter too much to stay _too_ mad, though."

"Excuse me?" they heard a soft voice say from their right. They turned towards the voice and saw a chocolate-haired, chocolate-eyed college boy with a dazzling smile all in black, from his jeans to his leather jacket to his combat boots. "May I interest either of you ladies in a drink?"

The two girls glanced at each other. Claire smiled and gave a look that said, _Get him, girl!_

Eve's blue eyes widened, relaying her message of, _What the hell are you suggesting? I just dumped a guy!_

Claire raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, _So? John was a jerk. __**This guy**__ looks __**promising**__. _Then she grinned and the glint in her green eyes said, _Hot, too._

Eve bit her lip to suppress a smile, like she was saying, _Well, he __**is**__ pretty formal. Which is __**very**__ cute. And, yes, he's hot, but—_

_No buts, _Claire eyes said with a disapproving frown. _Just see how it goes. We're in a __**bar**__ for god's sake! You can easily turn him down. _She stood with a smirk and a wink, _Good luck, Eve._

"Claire—" Eve started to say when the blonde rose, but was immediately cut off when said blonde turned to the college boy, who was oblivious to the five-second wordless conversation that had transpired, "I think my friend here would _love _to have that drink," she said with a smile. "I'll have to turn it down, though. I think I see someone I know over there," she lied, gesturing vaguely at the general direction to the right.

"That's fine," the guy said with a shrug, still smiling. He took the seat Claire just vacated and signaled the bartender. "Another drink for the lady here, please."

Claire gave Eve, who was blushing profusely like she'd never been bought a drink before (she has, though), another smile and then walked off. She didn't know where to go, so she thought of going outside for a while to get a breath of fresh air. But then a familiar-looking blackness caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She looked and saw a certain serial killer in his usual dark attire at the very end of the bar, downing a shot. She frowned, wondering what he was doing there since it'd been only three days since their phone conversation. Her feet seemed to have a life of their own as they made her go over to him and seat herself beside him. "Sylar?"

He didn't look up. "Hello, Claire."

"I thought you were in New York?"

"Well, I'm obviously here now, aren't I?"

She scowled at him. Really, she should have expected his sarcasm, but... Wait, why _didn't_ she expect it? Just because he was angry at her doesn't mean he could drop the snarky attitude. She shook her head, and said, "Yeah, but I thought you had some family business to take care of or something?"

"Obviously, it's done now." He refilled his glass with a nearby nearly-empty bottle of beer, then turned to her, unfathomable dark eyes keeping her gaze locked, "Are you going to just keep asking me obvious questions or are you going to get yourself a drink and shut up for a while?" He sneered, "Or do you expect _me_ to buy _you_ a drink?"

She looked away. He raised an eyebrow at her. She sighed, then raised her hand to signal the bartender. "Put it on the tab of Eve Belmont. Raspberry kamikaze, please," she said and waited as he mixed her drink, then served it to her. She glanced at the man beside her as he was given a new bottle, then focused her attention on her drink.

Silence stretched between them even after the bartender went away to service someone else, both barely listening to the music playing from the band onstage. Then, "So, who is this... 'Eve Belmont'?" Sylar glanced at her, then downed his shot again.

"A friend whose cousin's birthday is today," she answered, downing her kamikaze.

"I see." He refilled his drink.

"So, that's bottle number...?"

"I see we're back to the obvious questions," he commented, scowling at her, and then gestured to the two beer bottles on the bar.

"I'm sorry if I'm trying to make conversation with you," she snapped.

"And why the _hell_ would you want to _try _to make conversation with _me_?" he retorted. "I think it's obvious from our last conversation on the phone, but it looks like I have to tell you anyway: I do not want correspondence with you – in _any _way. Though I appreciate your efforts to help me try and contain the Hunger, I do _not _want your help anyways and would prefer that you keep out of my life and cease contact with me." He looked at her. "Have I made myself clear and do I have to say it in slang for you?" he asked wryly.

She stared at him. "What, just like that?" She looked slightly offended – or maybe indignant was the right word? – and maybe just a little hurt...? "I would've thought that we were..." She paused, and looked away, then muttered, "friends, at least... Especially after those zombies..." She shuddered at the memory. They'd been _sooo __**creepy**_, she was thankful she hadn't been alone then.

Sylar chuckled. Her head snapped up, fire dancing in her verdant eyes. He was _laughing_ at her? That _bastard_! Just because she thought they were friends after quite literally battling off _death_ together, he found _amusement_ in it?

His eyes looked up to meet hers, eyes twinkling with humor. "Claire, Claire, Claire," he drawled, leaning slightly forward and whispering, "just because we fought off those zombies together doesn't make us immediate friends." He smirked. "While I'm thankful for your help in subtracting their numbers, that's all there is to it. I'm _grateful_." He cast his eyes down to the floor between their seats. "But I think being _friends_," he smirked again at the word, "with you wouldn't really be very beneficial to me." He looked up at her eyes again. They looked confused and... hurt. His eyes narrowed. Why would she be _hurt_ at his rejection of her offer of friendship? Hell, why would she even _want_ to offer it? He snorted, then said snidely, "So, sorry, Princess, but you don't always get what you want."

"Why not?" Her voice cracked with sadness and unshed tears.

He looked at her again. He felt something inside him break a little when he saw the hurt and dejection in those beautiful green eyes of hers... He blinked. _Watery green eyes, _he corrected himself. _Like the sea churning before a storm... Beautiful but potentially dangerous. _He stopped himself again. His thoughts were getting out of hand. "Because we both know what'll happen if your Dad ever finds out. And I _hate _getting shot." He scowled at just the thought of it.

"Yeah, but can't you just picture the look on his face if and when he finds out?"

He looked up at her again. Her sad eyes twinkled with amusement. Picture it he did, and he grinned. "He looks like a tomato going to explode."

She laughed. A rich, twinkling melody that came out of her lips, but were drowned from the loudness of the music blasting from the stereos. But the only music he heard was her laugh. Her eyes twinkled and her smile looked blinding and good lord, he had a sudden urge to kiss her... He mentally smacked himself. _Snap out of it, Sylar. It's just a residue from Crash's mind fuck._

"Oh my _god_!" She chuckled as the last few waves of her merriment calmed down. She smiled at him, but then looked away, biting her lower lip. "Hilarious mental image aside, I wouldn't want to hurt him..."

"So don't."

She gave a light shrug, "Fine then."

Awkward silence...

"So what'd you do in New York?" she finally asked, then turned to him and said with a scowl, "And don't give me that 'family business' crap. I meant the specifics."

He chuckled wryly. "And _why _would I even _tell you _the specifics?" he asked with an arched brow.

She shrugged. "Humor me."

"No, thank you."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine then. You don't wanna talk about it, then don't." She wanted to look like she didn't care one way or the other, but the curiosity gnawed at her. She tried to suppress it with another question, "So... Three days in New York, huh?"

"Why, hello there, Captain Obvious," he drawled sarcastically. "_So _nice to see you again."

She ignored him. "Why so long?"

He snorted, "Not long at all. And why would _you_ care?" he retorted with a scowl.

"You didn't call," she answered offhandedly with a shrug.

He chuckled. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me," he remarked with a playful smirk. He glanced at her and saw her blush and bite her lip, staring at the drink in her hand. He frowned. "You did, didn't you?" A hopeful grin broke on his face, but he forced it to look amused. He forcefully shoved down the small glimmer of hope that this girl – soon-to-be-_woman _– who _despised _him would actually come to ca—_No. _He stopped the thought before it could go any further. He forced out a chuckle, "Oh Claire," he purred, slowly leaning into her and rested his free hand on the edge of her seat as he whispered in her ear, "you continue to surprise me."

He didn't notice the involuntary shudder when she felt his breath on her skin. Whether it was because of repulsion or of his proximity, she wasn't quite sure. "And you're starting to disappoint me, Sylar," she forced out, glad that it wasn't the least bit breathy. She looked at him and saw a flash of shock then hurt in his dark brown eyes before they were replaced by a sudden anger.

"You have nothing to be disappointed in, Princess. It's not like you should be _expecting_ anything of me," he bit out.

"Oh but there is." His eyes snapped up to meet hers, confusion and surprise written in his deep brown pools. She continued, "You're _Sylar_. You never run. You face whatever comes your way and destroy it. And now I find you wallowing – _sulking _– and trying to drink your pain away." Her green eyes burned with their usual fire as anger flashed across her delicate features. "You should be _out there _taking revenge on whoever caused you pain and not being _here_, looking pathetic and hopeless."

"Are you suggesting what I _think _you're suggesting?" he suddenly asked, shocked and not just a little amused and blatantly ignored the way she'd just described him – for now.

Her eyes widened in realization, and she looked away and downed her drink. She didn't know _why_ she was encouraging him; she just knew that it felt _wrong _that he was like this – looking defeated and very much upset, like a kicked puppy. _And a hot one at that, _the voice from yesterday said dreamily.

She mentally scowled at it, _Shut up, you!_

_Oooh, you didn't even __**deny**__ it! _The voice giggled.

_Whatever. _Claire gave a mental eye-roll at the voice as she signaled the bartender for a refill.

She spoke again after her drink had been refilled and they were alone again at the end of the bar, "I just think it's very uncharacteristic of you. It was just an observation," she muttered.

Sylar laughed a little, this time from genuine amusement and not from sardonic humor. The sound made her look up at him in surprise – not because it was the first time she'd heard a genuine laugh from him, but because she realized she liked the sound of it. "Claaaire," he purred again, slowly drawing her name out from his smirking lips as he used his index finger to stroke her cheek. She jerked away from touch, surprised at herself for craving it. His smirk grew a little wider at her physical reaction, like he had expected it. "You continue to surprise me."

"Yeah, I know. You already said that earlier," she said with a roll of her eyes.

He chuckled. "Well, it needs to be said again." He cupped his chin with his thumb and thoughtfully tapped his index finger to his lips. "Unpredictable little thing, aren't you?" He snorted, "At times, that is." He turned away to down his drink, then refilled it. After three more shots, he said, "I have a good reason to be 'wallowing – _sulking_ – and trying to drink my pain away,'" he mimicked her earlier words, the smirk still on his face, amusement clearly evident in both his tone and expression. "I've already left that certain someone to die. Slowly." He paused. "Painfully." His eyes darkened. "And alone." He downed his drink, then cast his eyes down onto the wood of the counter. "...Because I felt that if I ended his life right there and then, it wouldn't even be _half _as painful as what I had felt when—" he stopped, pressing his eyes shut and his lips into a thin line. Why was he sharing this with her? It's not like she had any right to know...

"Sylar." He heard her voice call out softly to him, and felt something small and warm on his exposed forearm. He opened his eyes and saw her hand on his arm. He looked up at her, jade eyes locking onyx ones in their steady gaze. "Whatever that person did, I hope they deserved what they got." Her eyes softened as she said, "Whatever they did... I know you can handle it."

He looked away, dark eyes flashing with rage. He didn't need her pity. He said as much. He felt another warm hand on her right cheek. He frowned as it applied pressure and put up a small resistance when it made him turn to face her again. Her eyes bore into him, and he gave her his full attention.

"I'm not pitying you, Sylar," she said softly. "I'm giving you my sympathy." She briefly looked away, biting her lower lip, then looked up at him again. "I know what it feels like to be hurt so bad you think that nothing could ever get you out of your misery. That's what I felt when..." she swallowed a hard lump in her throat and continued, eyes downcast, "when I found out that Nathan didn't want anything to do with me..." She looked up at him again, the fire in her eyes was back, just a spark but still, it was there. "I threw a rock at his car as he was leaving... But I got over it." She smiled. "And that's what's important."

Frankly, he didn't care less what made her want to sympathize with him. He was too mesmerized with those eyes of hers... And the way her lips moved as she whispered her secret to him... She saw surprise in her eyes and she heard her mouth ask, "What are you doing?"

He looked up into her eyes again. He realized how close his face was to hers... _Good God, what __**am **__I doing?_ he asked himself with a slight frown. "I, uh..." he tried to look away but found himself looking at her slightly parted lips. He inched slightly closer. "Claire, I..." He tried to find logic and reason behind his actions... But couldn't think of anything coherent. All he could think of was how tiny their distance was and how he so _wanted _to close it...

When his lips were a mere tip of the head away, he heard her breath catch, and he slowly took her lips in his. It was soft, quick, and gentle, but it was filled with such yearning, he almost didn't want to pull away. He looked up into her eyes again, a bit shocked at his own actions. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Then he abruptly stood and walked out the door, leaving Claire in her seat, breathless, slightly confused, a little shocked, and more than a little hurt at his sudden departure.

_:("):_

_Sorry if this was a bit shorter than the previous chapter. But I can't promise that the next one will be longer. Nor can I guarantee that I will update sooner. Sorry, guys. _:(

_And by "Nathan not wanting anything to do with Claire," I meant when Meredith told her that all she would get from him was money._

_I decided to end it with Sylar's sudden flight and not with Claire blushing at being caught making out with a certain serial killer and walking off with Eve, who'd seen the make-out session and teased her about it on the ride home. BECAUSE I WANTED TO; DON'T QUESTION ME._

_I have no freakin' idea about the different types of alcohol. All I know is beer. And that you get a nasty hangover the next day if you drink one too many. So I got a name for Claire's drink from this awesome Labyfic, _ /s/5880427/1/As_The_World_Falls_Down_. To any other Labyfans reading this: Go read it. Now. It's gonna be a long wait before the next update, so GO. If you ain't a Labyfan, go read this awesome, smuffy Sylaire fic (_ /s/4967723/1/Wishful_Thinking_). NOW. If you've already read it – GO READ IT AGAIN. Oh! But leave a review before you do, okay? _:3


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